EMOTE  STORAGE 

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OF  ILLINOIS 
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LIFE 


ITS 


BY 


PHENOMENA. 


LEO.  H.  GRINDON, 

LECTURER  ON  BOTANY  AT  THE  ROYAL  SCHOOL  OF  MEDICINE,  MANCHESTER; 
AUTHOR  OF  “EMBLEMS,”  “ FIGURATIVE  LANGUAGE,”  ETC. 


FIFTH  AMERICAN  EDITION. 


PHILADELPHIA 
J.  B.  LIPPIlSrCOTT  & CO 
1869. 


£10 

G^dits- 


0 . 


£ 


PREFACE. 


o 


The  object  of  this  work  is  two-fold.  First,  it  is  proposed  to 
give  a popular  account  of  the  phenomena  which  indicate  the 
presence  of  that  mysterious,  sustaining  force  we  denominate  Life, 
or  Vitality,  and  of  the  laws  which  appear  to  govern  their  mani- 
festation ; secondly,  will  be  considered  those  Spiritual,  or  Emo- 
tional and  Intellectual  States,  which  collectively  constitute  the 
essential  history  of  our  temporal  lives,  rendering  existence  either 
pleasurable  or  painful.  The  inquiry  will  thus  embrace  all  the 
most  interesting  and  instructive  subjects  alike  of  physiology  and 
psychology : the  constitution  and  functions  of  the  bodies  in  which 
we  dwell ; the  delights  which  attend  the  exercise  of  the  intellect 
and  the  affections ; the  glory  and  loveliness  of  the  works  of  God, 
will  all  come  under  notice,  and  receive  their  fitting  meed  of  illus- 
tration. Especially  will  the  practical  value  and  interest  of  life 
be  pointed  out ; the  unity  and  fine  symmetry  of  the  True,  the 
Beautiful,  and  the  Good;  the  poetry  of  “common  things,’^  and 
the  intimate  dependence  of  the  whole  upon  Him  in  whom  “we 
live,  and  move,  and  have  our  being.  ’ ’ Man,  as  the  noblest  recipi- 
ent, upon  earth,  of  the  divine  life,  will  naturally  be  the  principal 
object  of  consideration ; not,  however,  the  only  one.  Seeing 
that  he  is  the  Archetype  of  the  entire  system  of  living  things, 
the  principles  of  a true  doctrine  concerning  him  become  the 


3 


' I.  I } 


4 


PREFACE. 


principles  of  Naturcal  History  in  every  one  of  its  departments. 
Animals,  plants,  even  the  inorganic  world  of  minerals,  will  all, 
therefore,  be  taken  account  of,  in  so  far  as  will  be  needful  to  the 
general  purpose  of  the  volume.  To  those  who  care  for  the  illus- 
tration which  physical  science  casts  upon  the  science  of  mind, 
and  upon  the  truths  of  Revelation,  there  will  probably  be  much 
that  is  both  novel  and  inviting.  In  fact,  it  has  been  sedulously 
aimed  to  show  how  intimate  and  striking  is  the  relation  of  human 
knowledges,  and  how  grand  is  the  harmony  of  things  natural  and 
divine.  Some  readers  may  regard  the  combination  of  physiology, 
poetry,  and  theology,  so  eminently  characteristic  of  these  chap- 
ters, as  detrimental  to  their  value,  since  the  subjects  in  question 
are  commonly  regarded  as  incongruous.  It  is  sufficient  to  say, 
in  anticipation  of  such  criticism,  that  one  great  aim  of  the  entire 
work  is  to  show  the  essential  consanguinity  of  every  form  of 
human  thought  and  human  feeling.  There  has  been  no  hesita- 
tion in  dealing  with  some  of  the  most  sacred  of  topics.  The 
physical  and  the  spiritual  worlds  are  in  such  close  connection, 
that  to  attempt  to  treat  philosophically  of  either  of  them  apart 
from  the  other,  is  to  divorce  vrhat  Grod  has  joined  together. 
Though  the  authorized  teacher  of  holy  things  undoubtedly  has 
his  special  office,  it  is  no  invasion,  therefore,  of  his  prerogative 
to  speak  ‘ ‘ religiously’  ’ on  themes  so  high  and  beautiful  as  the 
attestations  of  the  divine  love  expressed  in  nature.  Science 
without  religion  is  empty  and  unvital.  True  wisdom,  finding  the 
whole  world  expressive  of  God,  calls  upon  us  to  walk  at  all  times 
and  in  all  places,  in  the  worship  and  reverent  contemplation  of 
Him.  Wishful  at  all  times  to  speak  modestly,  and  upon  sacred 
matters  always  most  reverently,  if  a single  sentence  in  the 
volume  can  be  shown  not  to  be  in  accordance  with,  or  can  be 
proved  contrary  to  a right  and  true  interpretation  of  Scripture. 


PREFACE. 


5 


it  is  liere,  once  for  all,  acknowledged  false,  and  declared  un- 
spoken. 

The  views  which  are  set  forth  lay  few  claims  to  originality. 
They  are  such  as  have  been  held  by  select  thinkers  in  every  age, 
though  perhaps  never  before  expressed  connectedly,  or  in  similar 
terms.  Not  that  the  book  is  a mere  compilation  of  time-worn 
facts.  Several  of  the  chapters,  such  as  those  upon  Rejuve- 
nescence, and  the  Prefigurations  of  Nature,  deal  with  subjects 
hitherto  scarcely  touched.  Neither  are  the  views  here  offered 
final,  or  binding  on  a single  reader ; they  are  offered  as  opinions 
and  convictions  rather  than  as  dogmas.  Certainly,  most  part  of 
the  work  is  written  affirmatively,  but  this  must  be  taken  only  as  * 
indicating  earnestness  of  conviction ; anything  like  dogmatizing 
is  altogether  disclaimed.  They  are  views  which  have  brought 
inexpressible  happiness  to  the  writer ; and  they  are  offered  in 
the  hope  that,  while  they  may  render  the  strange  mystery  of  life 
less  perplexing,  they  will  help  to  render  others  happy  likewise. 

That  the  book  is  in  many  respects  greatly  deficient,  no  one  can 
become  more  sensible  than  the  author  is.  It  would  be  remark- 
able were  it  otherwise,  when  the  vast  extent  of  the  subject  is 
considered,  and  the  impossibility  of  compressing  it  into  moderate 
limits.  Ordinarily,  those  subjects  have  been  preferred  for  con- 
sideration which  are  least  commonly  attended  to.  Some  may 
seem  to  call  for  more  lengthy  treatment  than  they  receive ; but 
they  are  designedly  curtailed,  because  already  discussed  in  extenso 
by  authors  of  repute.  Such  are  Sleep,  and  the  Brain.  The 
incompleteness  of  the  remarks  upon  others  is  compensated  in  the 
author’s  separate  writings.  A large  number  of  quotations  will 
be  found,  ample  reference  being  made  to  the  authorities  in  all 
the  more  important  of  them,  and  the  remainder  acknowledged 

in  the  usual  manner.  The  reader  who  is  acquainted  with  the 

1 ^5^ 


6 


PREFACE. 


authors  cited  will  not  regret  to  meet  old  friends ; and  to  the 
younger  student,  they  may  be  valuable  as  pointing  to  new  sources 
of  information.  Inserted,  as  a considerable  portion  of  them 
have  been,  purely  from  memory,  exercised  over  a long  and  diver- 
sified course  of  reading,  it  has  been  impossible  always  to  authen- 
ticate minutely.  For  the  benefit  of  the  younger  reader,  copious 
references  to  the  literature  of  the  subject  are  also  introduced ; 
the  book  forming,  in  this  respect,  a kind  of  index. 

Appended  will  be  found  an  appropriate  adjunct  to  the  subject 
of  Life,  in  the  shape  of  a little  essay  on  “Times  and  Seasons.'' 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAGE 

General  idea  of  Life,  and  universality  of  its  presence — Latent  life — 
Value  of  the  doctrine  sought  to  be  established 11 

CHAPTER  11. 

The  Source  of  life,  and  the  rationale  of  life — The  essence  of  life  un- 
disco verable — Laws  of  Nature 26 

CHAPTER  III. 

The  varieties  of  life — Organic  life — The  vital  stimuli — Correlation  of 
forces 38 

CHAPTER  IV. 

Food — Molecular  death  and  renewal  of  the  body — Specialities  of  food 
— Hunger  the  source  of  moral  order — Hunger  and  love  the  world^s 
two  great  ministers 57 

CHAPTER  V. 

The  Atmosphere  in  its  relation  to  life — Respiration — The  Heart  and 
the  Lungs — Respiration  of  plants — Trees  in  grave-yards 77 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Motion  the  universal  Sign  of  life — Motion  in  plants — Motion  needful 
to  Beauty — The  Sea  and  the  Clouds — Repose 100 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Death-'-Causes  of  physical  death — The  Blood — The  nervous  system — 
Tenacity  of  Life — Death  of  plants Ill 


7 


8 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

PAGE 

The  various  leases  of  life — Lease  of  life  in  plants — Trees — Death  bal- 
anced by  reproduction 128 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Duration  of  life  in  Animals — Leases  of  the  Mammalia;  of  Birds;  of 
Fishes  and  Reptiles;  of  Insects — Lease  of  Human  Life 152 

CHAPTER  X. 

Grounds  of  the  various  lease  of  life — Spiritual  basis  of  nature — The 
material  world  representative  only — Materialism  and  Spiritualism..  175 

CHAPTER  XL 

Grounds  of  the  various  lease  of  life,  continued — Correspondence  of 
Nature  and  Mind — Leases  of  extinct  animals  and  plants — The  Pre- 
Adamite  world — Geology  and  Psychology 194 

CHAPTER  XII. 

The  spiritual  expression  of  life — Nature  and  Seat  of  the  Soul — The 
Soul  a spiritual  body 207 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

Soul,  Spirit,  Ghost — Meaning  of  these  words — Philosophy  of  Lan- 
guage—Anima  and  Animus — Psyche  and  Pneuma — Summary 227 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

True  idea  of  Youth  and  Age — Age  no  matter  of  Birth-days — The  In- 
tellect in  advanced  life — Life  is  Love 249 

CHAPTER  XV. 

The  affections  in  relation  to  life — Love  of  Nature — Poetry  of  Com- 
mon things — The  Imagination — Natural  History  and  the  Pulpit — 
Town  versus  Country 264 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

The  Intellectual  faculties  in  relation  to  Life — True  idea  of  Education 
— Reading — The  Friendship  of  Books 280 


CONTENTS. 


9 


CHAPTER  XVIL 

PAGE 

The  Religious  Element  of  Life — True  idea  of  Religious  Sects — 
Worldly  pleasures  and  Religion 298 

CHAPTER  XVIIL 

Life  realized  by  Activity — Action  the  law  of  Happiness — Ennui — 

Art  of  Conversation — Play 311 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

Death  in  relation  to  the  spiritual  life — Scriptural  meanings  of  Death.  333 
CHAPTER  XX. 

Rejuvenescence — Death  an  operation  of  Life — Sleep — Spring — The 
Poem  of  Geology — Flowering  plants  and  Humanity — New  doc- 
trines and  old 344 

CHAPTER  XXL 

Health  and  Disease^The  miracle  of  Healing — Rationale  of  mira- 
cles— Unity  of  Truth 366 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

Mortality  and  Immortality — Life  to  be  made  the  most  of — Sorrow  for 
the  Dead — Why  is  man  immortal? — Doctrine  of  the  immortality  of 
brutes 386 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

The  Resurrection  and  the  Future  Life — True  and  false  emblems  of 
Death — Dreams — The  Spiritual  World 406 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

The  Analogies  of  Nature — Law  of  Prefiguration 425 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

The  Chain  of  Nature — Continuous  and  Discrete  Degrees — Law  of 
Promotion 447 


10 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

PAQB 

The  Unity  of  Nature — Homology — True  principles  of  Classification  of 
organized  beings 470 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Man  the  Epitome  of  Nature — Three  Kingdoms  of  the  Human  Body 
— Three  Degrees  of  Human  Life 497 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Instinct  and  Reason — Instinct  co-ordinate  with  Life — Specialties  of 
Instinct 509 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Instinct  and  Reason,  continued — Instinct  in  Man — Reason  and  Intelli- 
gence  521 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

Summary — Inspiration — Life  epitomized  in  Genius 535 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS 


545 


LIFE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

GENERAL  IDEA  OF  LIFE,  AND  UNIVERSALITY  OF  ITS 
FRESENCE. 

1.  Life  is  the  loftiest  subject  of  philosophy.  There  is  no 
place  where  life  is  not  present;  and  there  never  was  a time 
when  life  was  not.  In  the  great  composite  fact  of  a Crea- 
tor are  involved  the  elemental  facts  of  Omnipresence  and 
Eternity  of  existence;  and  these,  in  turn,  involve  Infinite 
Creative  Activity,  which  is  the  production  and  sustentation 
of  arenas  of  ever-renovated  life.  To  suppose  the  Creator 
ever  to  have  been  inactive  or  unproducing,  would  be  to  sup- 
pose him  inconsistent  with  himself.  Doubtless  every  one  of 
the  innumerable  orbs  of  the  universe  had  a beginning, — 
some,  probably,  were  created  long  subsequently  to  others, 
and  are  comparatively  in  their  childhood;  but  a period 
when  there  were  no  worlds, — no  terraqueous  scenes  of  the 
bestowal  of  the  Divine  Love,  the  mind  is  incapable  of  con- 
ceiving. Ancient  as  our  own  world  is,  there  were  morning 
stars”  which  ‘^sang  together”  at  its  nativity.  That  such 
scenes  of  life  do  really  exist,  certainly  we  neither  know,  nor 
is  it  probable  that  it  lies  within  the  power  of  man  scien- 
tifically to  determine;  but  the  affirmative  is  congenial  alike 
to  reason,  philosophy,  and  enlarged  ideas  of  God.  Truth 
in  such  matters  is  determined  by  balancing  probabilities, 
rather  than  by  rigid,  mathematical  demonstration.  If  the 

11 


12  PROPER  MEANING  OF  THE  TERM  LIFE. 

former  proposition  be  admissible,  namely,  that  an  inactive, 
unproducing  Creator  is  a contradiction  in  terms,  the  “})lu- 
rality  of  worlds”  is  a corollary  almost  inevitable.  “Life 
was  not  made  for  matter,  but  matter  for  life.  In  whatever 
spot  we  see  it,  whether  at  our  feet,  or  in  the  planet,  or  in  the 
remotest  star,  we  may  be  sure  that  life  is  there, — life  physical 
to  enjoy  its  beauties — life  moral  to  worship  its  maker — life 
intellectual  to  proclaim  his  wisdom  and  his  power.”  Doubt- 
less, too,  every  shape  of  organized  existence  had  its  own 
special  era  of  commencement,  as  illustrated  in  the  sequen- 
tialism  of  the  fossils  beneath  our  feet;*  but  those  very  fossils 
show  at  the  same  moment,  that  organic  life  is  contempora- 
neous with  the  consolidation  of  the  worlds  which  it  embel- 
lishes, and  thus  with  the  dayspring  of  Time.  The  very 
purpose  of  a world’s  creation  is  that  it  shall  be  at  once 
clothed  and  made  beautiful  with  life.  “For  thus  saith  the 
Lord  that  created  the  heavens, — God  himself  that  formed 
the  earth  and  made  it;  He  hath  established  it;  He  created 
it  not  in  vain ; He  formed  it  to  be  inhabited.” 

2.  Under  the  term  Life,  however,  rightly  regarded,  is 
comprehended  far  more  than  it  is  ordinarily  used  to  denote. 
We  err,  if  when  thinking  of  the  habitations  of  life 
associate  it  only  with  ourselves,  animals,  and  plants.  Life, 
in  its  proper,  generic  sense,  is  the  name  of  the  sustaining 


* The  non-geological  reader  may  be  apprised  that  the  petrified 
remains  of  animals  and  plants,  which  form  so  large  a portion  of  col- 
lections of  natural  curiosities,  are  not  mixed  indiscriminately  in  the 
earth,  but  always  occupy  the  same  relative  places, — that  is,  every 
layer  or  stratum,  or  at  least  every  group  of  strata,  has  its  peculiar 
fossils,  showing  that  there  must  have  been  as  many  distinct  creations 
as  there  are  changes  in  the  character  of  the  relics.  When  plants 
and  animals  first  appeared  upon  our  planet,  geology  will  probably 
never  be  able  to  point  out,  nor  even  to  calculate.  Azoic  rocks  are  no 
proof  of  azoic  periods. 


ITS  UNIVERSALITY. 


13 


principle  by  which  everything  out  of  the  Creator  subsists, 
whether  worlds,  metals,  minerals,  trees,  animals,  mankind, 
angels,  or  devils,  together  with  all  thought  and  feeling. 
Nothing  is  absolutely  lifeless,  though  many  things  are 
relatively  so;  and  it  is  simply  a conventional  restriction  of 
the  term,  which  makes  life  signify  no  more  than  the  vital 
energy  of  an  organized,  material  body,  or  the  phenomena  in 
which  that  energy  is  exhibited.  Though  in  man  life  be  at 
its  maximum,  it  is  not  to  be  thought  of  as  concentrated  in 
him,  nor  even  in  ‘^animated  nature,”  outside  of  which  there 
is  as  much  life  as  there  is  inside ; though  not  the  same  expres- 
sion of  life.  “The  life  which  works  in  your  organized 
frame,”  said  Laon,  “is  but  an  exalted  condition  of  the 
power  which  occasions  the  accretion  of  particles  into  this 
crystalline  mass.  The  quickening  force  of  nature  through 
every  form  of  being  is  the  same.”*  “The  characteristic,” 
observes  another  quick-sighted  writer,  “ which,  manifested  in 
a high  degree,  we  call  Life,  is  a characteristic  manifested 
only  in  a lower  degree  by  so-called  inanimate  objects.”t 
Hufeland,  Oersted,  Humboldt,  Coleridge,  in  his  “Theory  of 
Life,”  Arnold  Guyot,  in  “The  Earth  and  Man,”  and  many 
others,  express  themselves  in  similar  terms,  none,  however, 
more  explicitly  than  the  distinguished  Carus: — “The  idea 
of  Life  is  co-extensive  with  Universal  Nature.  The  indi- 
vidual or  integrant  parts  of  Nature  are  the  members;  uni- 
versal nature  is  the  total  and  complete  organism.  The 
relations  of  inorganic  to  organized  bodies  exist  only  by 
reason  of  this;  hence,  too,  the  universal  connection,  the 
combination,  the  never-ceasing  action  and  re-action  of  all 
the  powers  of  nature,  producing  the  vast  and  magnificent 

* “Panthea;  or,  the  Spirit  of  Nature,’^  by  Robert  Hunt,  p.  50, 
1849. 

f Herbert  Spencer. — Westminster  Review,  April,  1852,  p.  472. 

2 


14 


TESTIMONY  OF  LANGUAGE. 


whole  of  the  world; — an  action  and  re-action  which  would 
be  impossible,  were  not  all  pervaded  by  a single  principle  of 
Life.’’*  Strictly  speaking,  every  atom  of  the  constituent 
matter  of  our  globe  is  alive.  ‘‘Inanimate  matter,”  “dead 
matter,”  often  vaguely  spoken  of,  matter  waiting  for  the 
breath  of  Deity  to  give  it  life,  exists  only  in  fable.  Matter 
is  not  a hearth  existing  anteriorly  to  life,  and  independently 
of  life,  and  upon  which  the  flame  of  life  is  sometime  kindled. 
In  its  very  simplest  and  crudest  forms  it  is  a sign  that  the  flame 
is  already  burning.  The  language  of  poetry,  or  rather  of 
the  poetic  sentiment, — the  golden  key  to  the  essential  mean- 
ings of  words,  and  the  teacher  of  their  right  applications, 
has  from  ages  immemorial  shown  that  life  is  no  mere  term 
of  physiology;  and  Scripture,  which  is  the  sum  and  immortal 
bloom  of  all  poetry,  pronounces,  in  its  usages,  a divine  con- 
firmation. In  the  force  and  multiplicity  of  its  figurative 
applications,  no  word  takes  precedence  of  Life, — a fact 
which  mere  accident  or  conformity  to  other  men’s  example 
would  be  quite  insufficient  to  account  for;  the  reason  is  that 
what  we  ordinarily  call  “Life,”  namely,  organic,  physiolo- 
gical life,  is  the  exponent  and  explanatory  phase  of  a prin- 
ciple felt  to  be  omnipresent,  manifold  in  expression,  but 
uniform  in  entity.  The  profound,  unerring  perceptions  of 
the  harmonies  of  nature,  which  were  the  original  archi- 
tects, and  are  the  conservators  and  trustees  of  language, 
acknowledged  no  private  property  in  words;  and  though 
conventionalism  and  contraction  of  view  may  seek  to  enslave 
particular  terms.  Life  among  the  number,  ever  and  ever  do 
those  perceptions  free  them  from  their  bonds,  and  pass  them 
on  to  their  rightful  inheritances.  Hence  it  is  that  on  the 


* “The  Kingdom  of  Nature:  their  Life  and  Affinity,’’  by  Dr. 

G.  Cams,  Translated  from  the  German,  in  Taylor’s  Scientific  Me- 
moirs, vol.  i.,  p.  223.  1837. 


LIFE  VARIOUSLY  MANIFESTED. 


15 


lips  of  the  poet; — that  is,  on  the  lips  of  every  man  who  is 
in  closer  alliance  with  God,  and  Truth,  and  Nature  than  are 
the  multitude; — words  which  with  the  vulgus  have  but  one 
solitary,  narrowed  meaning,  are  continually  found  serving 
varied  and  brilliant  purposes,  which  Taste  appreciates  and 
relishes  delightedly.  Strange  and  unnatural  as  its  phrases 
may  sound  to  the  unreflective  mind,  figurative  language, 
rightly  so  called,  is  Nature’s  high-priest  of  Truth.  ‘‘Rightly 
so  called,”  because  metaphors  and  similes  founded  upon 
mere  arbitrary  or  far-fetched  comparisons,  though  often 
confounded  with  figurative  language,  are  generally  but  its 
mockery  and  caricature.  True  figurative  language  is  an 
echo  of  the  divine,  immortal  harmonies  of  nature,  thus  their 
faithful  expositor,  the  vestibule  of  Philosophy,  and  an  epi- 
tome of  the  highest  science  of  the  universe. 

3.  When  it  is  popularly  said,  then,  that  one  thing  is  ani- 
mate, and  another  inanimate ; that  life  is  present  here,  but 
absent  there;  the  simple  fact  of  the  matter  is  that  a particu- 
lar manifestation  of  life  is  absent  or  present.  Such  phrases 
come  of  confounding  Expression,  which  is  variable,  with 
Principle,  which  is  uniform.  A particular  presentation  of 
life  is  contemplated,  and  thus  not  only  is  the  principle  itself 
misconceived,  but  everything  which  does  not  conform  to  the 
assumed  impersonation  of  it  is  pronounced  contrary  to  that 
which  in  reality  has  no  contraries.  Just  as  with  popular 
notions  of  what  constitutes  Religion,  which  it  is  impossible 
rightly  to  apprehend  and  define,  so  long  as  it  is  confounded 
with  the  forms  of  faith,  and  the  modes  and  attitudes  of  wor- 
ship, by  which  it  is  locally  sought  to  be  realized.  It  is  a 
mere  assumption,  for  instance,  that  life  is  present  only  where 
there  are  physical  growth,  feeding,  motion,  sensation,  repro- 
duction, &c.  Life  confines  itself  to  no  such  scanty  costume ; 
and  as  if  it  would  rebuke  the  penuriousness  of  a doctrine 
which  so  limits  and  degrades  it,  often  forbears  from  all  the 


16 


FUNGI  AND  SPONGES. 


more  striking  phenomena  of  the  series,  in  the  very  depart- 
ments of  nature  of  which  they  are  asserted  to  be  cliaractcris- 
tic;  and  expresses  itself  so  slenderly,  that  science  needs  all  its 
eyes  and  analogies  to  discern  it.  In  the  fungi,  for  example, 
and  in  the  sponge,  both  of  which  forms  of  being,  by  reason 
of  their  attenuated  presentation  of  life,  have  been  regarded 
in  time  past  as  belonging  to  inorganic  nature.  Fungi  have 
been  thought  to  be  the  extinguished  relics  or  corpses  of  the 
beautiful  meteors  called  “ falling  stars sponges  have  been 
deemed  mere  concretions  of  the  foam  of  the  sea.  There  is 
found,”  says  old  Gerarde,  “ upon  the  rocks  neare  vnto  the 
sea,  a certaine  matter  wrought  together  of  the  fome  or  froth 
of  the  sea,  which  we  call  spunges.”  It  is  proper  to  remark, 
however,  that  by  Aristotle,  the  father  of  natural  history,  the 
animal  constitution  of  sponges  was  at  all  events  anticipated.* 
So  with  the  beautiful  frondose  zoophytes  called  Sertularia, 
Thuiaria,  Plumularia,  Flustra,  &c.f  So  late  as  a century 
ago,  the  mineralogists  disputed  the  zoological  and  botanical 
claims  to  the  possession  of  these  beautiful  organisms,  con- 
tending that  they  were  formed  by  the  sediment  and  agglu- 
tination of  a submarine,  general  compost  of  calcareous  and 
argillaceous  materials,  moulded  into  the  figures  of  trees  and 


* For  a long  and  eminently  interesting  account  of  the  opinions 
and  discoveries  of  the  nature  of  Sponges,  and  of  their  situation  and 
rank  in  the  scale  of  organized  being,  see  the  admirable  History 
of  British  Sponges  and  Lithophytes,’’  by  the  late  lamented  Dr. 
George  Johnson,  the  Gilbert  White  of  the  sea. 

f Though  these  names  may  not  be  familiar,  the  objects  they 
designate  are  known  to  all  who  have  interested  themselves  in  the 
curiosities  and  wonders  of  the  shore.  Resembling  sea-weeds  in 
their  general  aspect  and  configuration,  and  commonly  confounded 
with  them,  they  are,  nevertheless,  readily  distinguishable  by  their 
semi-crystalline  texture,  and  wliitish  brown  color;  the  prevailing 
colors  of  true  sea-weeds  being  pink,  green,  or  dark  olive. 


THE  IDEA  OF  LIFE  A PROGRESSIVE  ONE. 


17 


mosses  by  the  motion  of  the  waves ; by  crystallization  (as 
in  salts),  or  by  some  imagined  vegetative  power  in  brute 
matter.  Ray  himself  seems  not  to  have  made  up  his  mind 
about  them,  for  though  in  some  of  his  writings  he  indicates  a 
correct  apprehension  of  their  nature,  in  the  Wisdom  of 
God  manifested  in  the  Works  of  Creation,”  he  includes  them 
among  inanimate,  mixed  bodies,”  or  stones,  metals,  mine- 
rals, and  salts.”  “ Some,”  says  he,  have  a kind  of  vegeta- 
tion and  resemblance  of  plants,  as  Corals,  Pori,  and  Fun- 
gites,  which  grow  upon  the  rocks  like  shrubs.”  The  fact  is, 
the  notions  of  life  and  of  what  lives,  as  of  the  whole,  genuine, 
truth  in  any  matter,  are  things  essentially  of  growth,  and 
modification  for  the  better.  The  popular  notion  of  life  is 
not  a censurable  one.  It  necessarily  precedes ; the  error  be- 
ing to  remain  in  it  after  it  has  been  shown  to  be  only  part 
of  a truth.  Partial  truths  everywhere  form  the  beginnings 
of  knowledge.  In  science,  in  philosophy,  in  theology,  it  is 
neither  so  much  nor  so  often  that  positively  false  doctrines  are 
held,  as  defective  ones.  The  difierence  between  the  intellec- 
tual conditions  of  childhood  and  maturity,  and  thus  between 
their  counterparts,  the  uncultivated  and  the  cultivated  mind, 
consists,  mainly,  in  the  ability  to  discriminate  between  what 
is  less  true  and  what  is  more  completely  true.  Unfortunately, 
we  are  all  of  us  too  prone  to  rest  content  with  our  little 
glimpses,  and  to  deem  them  the  absolute  total.  Tell  the"" 
dull-witted,  uninformed  man  that  the  gray,  leatherlike  fun- 
gus upon  the  old  paling  lives  as  veritably  as  he  himself  does, 
and  he  will  laugh  at  you.  To  him,  eating,  drinking,  and 
movement  from  place  to  place  alone  indicate  life.  You 
may  get  his  assent  perhaps  to  the  proposition  that  the  beau- 
tiful tree  swaying  its  branches  there,  is  alive ; but  to  make 
the  same  demand  on  behalf  of  the  lichens,  is  to  quench  all 
his  belief  in  your  sincerity,  if  not  in  your  sanity.  To  the 
perception  of  this  higher  theorem  he  must  progress,  as  his 
2 


18 


LIFE  DOES  NOT  IMPLY  VOLITION. 


teacher  did  before  him,  and  as  that  teacher  also  himself  fur- 
ther progresses,  when  not  shackled  by  a mistaken  deference, 
to  the  perception  of  a sustaining  life  even  in  inorganic 
things.  No  estimate  of  facts  in  nature  can  be  regarded  as 
just,  consistent,  and  complete,  which  confines  itself  to  a 
fixed  circumference,  calling  everything  ]'»oyond,  barbarian. 
In  his  sphere,  the  philosopher  who  sees  life  only  in  organic 
things,  is  no  more  advanced  than  the  rustic  and  the  child, 
who  allow  it  only  to  animals. 

4.  It  needs  very  little  observation  of  nature  to  perceive 
that  life  does  not  necessarily  imply  consciousness  or  feeling. 
If  it  did,  the  whole  vegetable  creation  would  be  lifeless,  to- 
gether with  many  animal  structures  of  humble  kind,  as  the 
sponge  and  allied  beings.  So  with  the  mere  circumstances, 
separately  taken,  of  volitional  movement,  feeding  and 
growth.  As  regards  movement,  for  instance,  no  observa- 
tion or  experiment  has  rendered  it  even  probable  that  plants 
ever  move  volitionally,  and  the  same  may  be  said  of  the 
humble  animal  organisms  just  alluded  to.  This  might  be 
presupposed,  indeed,  from  the  utter  absence  from  plants  and 
the  sponge,  of  consciousness  and  sensation,  seeing  that  with- 
out these  there  can  be  no  volition,  and  therefore  no  impulse 
to  move.  The  fascinatingly  curious  examples  of  movement 
furnished  in  the  different  kinds  of  Sensitive-plant,*  may 


* There  are  many  kinds  of  sensitive-plant  besides  the  species 
commonly  so  called,  though  nearly  all  are  comprised  in  the  great 
family  of  plants  called  Leguminosce.  The  veritable  3Iwiosa  sensitiva 
is  a very  different  thing  from  the  beautiful  little  3Iimosa  pudicaj  the 
species  ordinarily  known  as  the  sensitive-plant.  The  other  exam- 
I)le8  of  sensitiveness  occur  in  different  species  of  Oxalideos,  a family 
of  which  our  English  wood-sorrel  is  the  type ; and  in  the  extraordi- 
nary plants  known  as  tlie  fly-catchers,  comprehended  in  the  family 
of  Broseraceca,  the  most  remarkable  being  the  North  American 
Venus’  fly-trap,  or  Bionoea  muscipula. 


PHENOMENA  OF  VEGETABLE  LIFE. 


19 


seem  to  be  exceptional,  but  the  whole  of  these  are  referable 
to  causes  which  involve  no  degree  whatever  of  volition. 
The  most  curious  of  all,  namely,  the  play  of  the  leaflets  of 
the  Moving-plant,*  may  be  compared  with  such  movements 
in  the  animal  body  as  that  of  the  heart,  which  is  constantly 
pulsating,  yet  quite  independently  of  the  will,  and  even  out 
of  its  control.  Exceptions  may  also  seem  to  occur  in  the 
closing  and  opening  of  many  kinds  of  flowers,  commonly 
called  their  sleep  and  their  waking ; also  in  the  folding  and 
re-expansion  of  the  leaves,  and  in  the  advance  of  the  sta- 
mens of  certain  flowers  towards  the  pistil.  For  all  of  these, 
however,  there  is  adequate  explanation.  Causes  exciting 
from  without,  manifestly  elicit  the  chief  part  of  the  respec- 
tive movements ; while  others  are  purely  mechanical. 
Nothing  is  easier  to  perceive,  for  instance,  than  that  the 
leap  of  the  stamens  of  the  Kalmia  from  their  niches  in  the 
corolla,  comes  of  the  wider  expansion  of  the  flower,  which 
unfixes  the  anthers,  and  thus  causes  the  filaments  to  ex- 
change their  constrained  curvature  for  the  straightness  of 
freedom. f The  only  other  kind  of  vegetable  movement  ap- 
parently volitional,  is  that  of  the  minute  aquatics  called, 
from  the  nature  of  their  motion,  Oscillatoria,  Carpenter 
compares  this  to  the  ciliary  movement  in  animals,  which  is 


* The  Moving-plant,  or  Desmodium  gyrans^  is  a native  of  Bengal, 
and  one  of  the  family  of  the  Leguminosae  above  mentioned.  Its 
leaves  are  somewhat  like  those  of  the  clover,  and  the  leaflets,  under 
given  circumstances,  keep  movirig  up  and  down.  An  excellent 
colored  drawing  of  it  may  be  seen  in  the  leones  Plantarum  Kario- 
rum^’  of  Jacquin,  vol.  iii.,  tab.  565.  Similar  movements  take  place 
in  the  Desmodium  gyroides  and  D.  vespertilionis, 

f For  particulars  of  various  plant-movements  of  this  nature,  see 
BalfouFs  “Class-Book  of  Botany,’^  pp.  492-500;  and  on  the  subject 
of  plant  motion  in  general.  Carpenters  “ Principles  of  General  and 
Comparative  Physiology,’^  chap.  xv. 


20 


PHYSIOLOGICAL  PHENOMENA. 


SO  independent  of  volition  as  often  to  continue  after  the 
organism  itself  is  dead.* 

5.  That  the  mere  act  of  feeding  is  not  an  indispensable 
testimony  to  the  presence  of  life,  is  shown  in  deciduous  trees, 
or  those  which  cast  their  foliage  in  the  autumn,  and  hyber- 
nate  till  spring,  seeing  that  without  the  presence  of  leaves, 
no  true  vegetable  nutrition  can  proceed.  Insects,  while  in 
the  chrysalis  form,  exemplify  the  same  thing,  as  do  all  kinds 
of  hybernating  animals.  So  with  the  phenomenon  of  grow- 
ing, That  this  is  not  needed  in  order  to  betoken  life,  is  illus- 
trated in  every  egg  before  it  is  placed  under  the  hen,  and  in 
every  seed  before  put  into  the  soil.  Contemplating  ‘‘  latent 
life,’’  as  the  physiologists  call  it,  or  that  which  supports  the 
egg  and  the  seed  prior  to  hatching  and  germination,  we  dis- 
cover in  fact,  that  behind  the  scenes  there  is,  if  possible,  even 
more  life  than  in  front.  Millions  of  beings  enjoy  complete 


* For  descriptions  and  colored  drawings  of  the  Oscillatoria,  see  the 
‘^British  Fresh-water  Algse’’  of  Hassall,  (1845),  wherein  is  shown 
reason  also  for  supposing  the  motion  of  these  plants  to  have  been 
misunderstood  and  exaggerated  to  such  an  extent  as  to  have  sur- 
rounded them  with  an  unnecessary  degree  of  mystery. 

Ciliary  motion  ” is  that  of  the  cilia,  in  animalcules  the  principal 
organs  of  locomotion  and  of  obtaining  food ; but  best  to  be  under- 
stood, perhaps,  from  what  these  organs  and  their  movements  are  in 
our  own  bodies.  The  human  cilia  are  minute,  transparent  hairs, 
ranging  from  l-500th  to  l-5000th  of  an  inch  in  length,  and  covering 
various  interior  surfaces,  with  which  water,  or  other  more  or  less 
fluid  matters  are  commonly  in  contact.  They  abound  about  the  eyes 
and  ears,  and  cover  the  whole  extent  of  the  respiratory  mucous  tract. 
Tlieir  oflice  is  to  assist  in  propelling  onwards,  and  usually  outwards, 
the  fluid  matters  brought  into  contact  with  them  ; and  they  do  this 
either  by  constantly  waving  backwards  and  forwards,  or  by  whirling 
round  on  their  bases,  so  that  the  extremities  describe  circles — the 
natural  result  being  a continuous  current  in  a determinate  direction. 
Tlie  waving  and  whirling  are  the  ‘‘ciliary  movement.” 


LATENT  LIFE — VITALITY  OF  SEEDS. 


21 


and  active  life ; tens  of  millions  lie  potentially  alive,  crowd- 
ing with  intense  vitality  the  very  places  which  to  appearance 
seem  most  empty.  When  excavations  are  made  in  the 
ground,  the  earth  'brought  to  the  surface  speedily  becomes 
covered  with  plants,  the  seeds  of  which,  as  they  could  not 
possibly  have  been  conveyed  there  at  the  moment,  must 
have  been  lying  in  the  soil,  accidentally  buried  at  some  re- 
mote period,  too  deep  to  be  acted  upon  by  the  rain  and  air. 
This  is  rendered  the  more  indisputable  by  the  curious  fact 
that  plants  of  different  species  from  those  common  in  the 
neighborhood,  not  infrequently  spring  up  among  the  others. 
Ploughing  deeper  than  usual  will  occasion  similar  resurrec- 
tions, and  the  same  when  the  surface  soil  of  old  gardens  is 
pared  off.  Often  has  there  shone  a lovely  and  unexpected 
renewal  of  choice  blossoms  on  removing  the  turf  under  the 
walls  of  old,  gray  castles  and  abbeys,  which  for  ages,  ivy 
and  the  faithful  wall-flower  alone  have  solaced.*  The  water 
contains  similar  stores,  holding  in  suspension  myriads  of 
germs  of  algae,  ready  to  grow  as  soon  as  they  meet  with  a 


* For  remarkable  instances  of  the  tenacity  of  life  in  seeds,  espe- 
cially when  buried,  see  Jesse’s  “Gleanings  in  Natural  History,”  vol. 
i.,  p.  138,  and  ii.,  p.  135 ; Hooker’s  “ Companion  to  the  Botanical 
Magazine,”  vol.  ii.,  p.  293 ; Loudon’s  “ Magazine  of  Natural  His- 
tory,” iii.  418 ; viii.  393 ; x.  447,  &c. 

The  well-known  story  of  the  grains  of  wheat  taken  from  the  hand 
of  the  Egyptian  mummy,  germinating  after  thirty  centuries’  capti- 
vity, though  doubted  by  many,  Schleiden  at  least  is  a believer  in. 
“ How  long,”  says  he,  “ the  vital  power  may  slumber  in  the  seed,  is 
shown  by  the  fact  that  the  late  Count  Yon  Sternberg  raised  healthy 
plants  of  wheat  from  grains  which  were  found  in  a mummy  case 
(which,  therefore,  must  have  reposed  for  three  thousand  years),  and' 
laid  them  before  the  Assembly  of  Naturalists  at  Freyburg.  This 
experiment  has  also  been  made  in  England.”  (“The  Plant,”  p.  71.) 
Eggs  have  been  found  in  a perfect  state  no  less  than  three  hundred 
years  old.  See  “Gardeners’  Chronicle,”  August  20th,  1853,  p.  54, 


22 


INVISIBLE  FLOATING  SEEDS. 


suitable  resting-place.  ‘‘Before  we  have  kept  our  Aquarium 
a fortnight/’  says  Mr.  Gosse,  “its  transparent  sides  begin  to 
be  dimmed,  and  a green  scurf  is  seen  covering  them  from 
the  bottom  to  the  water’s  surface.  Examined  with  a lens, 
we  find  this  substance  to  be  composed  of  myriads  of  tiny 
plants,  some  consisting  of  a single  row  of  cells  of  a light 
green  hue,  forming  minute  threads  which  increase  in  length 
at  their  extremity,  and  become  Confervas;  while  others  dis- 
play small,  irregularly  puckered  leaves  of  deeper  green,  and 
develope  into  Ulvse  and  Enteromorphie.”  Even  the  atmos- 
phere is  charged  with  seeds — those  minute  bodies  produced 
in  such  amazing  numbers  by  the  aerial  cryptogamia,  and 
which  indicate  their  presence,  like  the  algae  in  the  water,  the 
instant  that  circumstances  enable  them  to  vegetate.  Where- 
ever  vegetable  mildew  makes  its  appearance,  it  is  owing  to 
the  germination  of  these  invisible  floating  seeds,  the  vital 
energy  of  which,  lying  in  abeyance  only  till  a fitting  sphere 
of  acting  shall  be  offered,  is  one  of  the  most  wonderful  things 
in  nature.  The  genera  most  largely  represented  are  Penicil- 
lium,  Oidium,  Chaetomium,  Sporodyce,  &c.*  Not  only  do 
the  seeds  of  these  and  other  microscopic  fungi,  along  with 
those  of  mosses  and  lichens,  thus  float  in  the  atmosphere, 
waiting  their  opportunity  to  grow ; there  can  be  little  doubt 
that  associated  with  them  are  myriads  of  germs  of  animalr 
cules,  especially  Eotifera,  which  find  a suitable  nidus  in 
water  containing  organic  matter  in  a state  of  decomposition, 
one  kind  following  another,  according  to  the  stage  to  which 
the  decomposition  has  proceeded,  but  which  remain  inactive 
until  such  a nidus  is  afforded.  It  is  not  improbable  that  the 
glittering  motes  seen  in  the  sunbeam  when  it  shines  through 
a small  aperture  into  a dark  room,  consist  in  part,  of  these 

* Mildew  does  not  ahvays  consist  of  minute  vegetable  growth. 
Bometinies,  perhaps  usually,  in  woven  fabrics,  it  is  referable  to  an 
action  purely  chemical. 


LIFE  OF  THE  WORLD. 


23 


otherwise  imperceptible  eggs  and  seeds.  Light,  we  well 
know,  is  the  great  and  universal  Eevelator.  Give  light 
enough,  and  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  what  might  not 
brighten  into  human  view.  The  difficulty  in  microscopies 
is  not  so  much  in  obtaining  lenses  of  increased  magnifying 
power,  as  in  obtaining  an  adequate  amount  of  light.  It 
may  be  added  that  as  life  does  not  necessarily  imply  voli- 
tional movement,  feeding,  sensation,  &c.,  so  neither  is  any 
one  of  the  instruments  through  which  life  is  manifested, 
universally  present.  No  one  instrument  in  particular  can 
be  deemed  therefore,  as  essential  to  life,  or  as  absolutely 
characteristic  and  indicative  of  life. 

6.  That  life  does  not  necessarily  imply  organization  or  re- 
production, is  shown  in  what  may  without  impropriety  be 
called  the  Life  of  the  World.  Doubtless,  there  is  an  impas- 
sable chasm  between  the  mineral  and  the  vegetable,  as  be- 
tween the  vegetable  and  the  animal,  and  between  the  animal 
and  man.  But  this  inorganic  nature,  which  is  represented 
as  dead,’’  because  it  has  not  the  same  life  with  the  animal 
or  plant,  is  it  then,  to  quote  Guyot,  destitute  of  all  life  ? “ It 
has  all  the  signs  of  life,  we  cannot  but  confess.  Has  it  not 
motion  in  the  water  which  streams  and  murmurs  on  the  sur- 
face of  the  continents,  and  which  tosses  in  the  waves  of  the 
sea  ? Has  it  not  sympathies  and  antipathies  in  those  myste- 
rious elective  affinities  of  the  molecules  of  matter  which 
chemistry  investigates  ? Has  it  not  the  powerful  attractions 
of  bodies  to  each  other  which  govern  the  motions  of  the 
stars  scattered  in  the  immensity  of  space,  and  keep  them  in 
an  admirable  harmony  ? Do  we  not  see,  and  always  with  a 
secret  astonishment,  the  magnetic  needle  agitated  at  the 
approach  of  a particle  of  iron,  and  leaping  under  the  fire 
of  the  Northern  Light?  Place  any  material  body  whatever 
by  the  side  of  another,  do  they  not  immediately  enter  into  re^ 
lations  of  interchange,  of  molecular  attraction,  of  electricity. 


24 


LIFE  OF  THE  SOUL. 


of  magnetism  ? In  the  inorganic  part  of  matter,  as  in  tlie 
organic  all  is  acting,  all  is  promoting  change,  all  is  itself 
undergoing  transformation.  And  thus,  though  this  life  of 
the  globe,  this  physiology  of  our  planet,  is  not  the  life  of  the 
tree  or  the  bird,  is  it  not  also  a life?  Assuredly  it  is.  We 
cannot  refuse  so  to  call  those  lively  actions  and  reactions, 
that  perpetual  play  of  the  forces  of  matter,  of  which  we  are 
every  day  the  witnesses.  The  thousand  voices  of  nature 
which  make  themselves  heard  around  us,  and  in  so  many 
ways  betoken  incessant  and  prodigious  activity,  proclaim  it 
so  loudly  that  we  cannot  shut  our  ears  to  their  language.’’ 
Equally,  too,  may  we  recognize  life  as  the  central,  governing 
force  of  everything  comprehended  under  the  names  of  Intel- 
lect and  Will.  The  particular  phenomena  of  animal  and 
plant  life  may  not  be  present,  but  they  are  replaced  by  phe- 
nomena no  less  truly  vital.  Indeed  the  life  of  the  soul,  or 
that  which  is  played  forth  as  the  activity  of  the  intellect 
and  the  affections,  is  the  highest  expression  of  all.  Com- 
pared with  this  life,  the  life  of  animals  and  plants,  and  the 
life  of  the  globe,  are  but  mimicries  and  shadows. 

7.  It  is  this  full,  generic  significance  of  the  word  life, 
which  we  propose  to  recognize  and  illustrate  in  the  following 
pages ; physiological  life  taking  its  place,  not  as  life  abso^ 
lutely  and  exclusively,  but  as  one  manifestation  among  many. 
The  doctrine  which  it  involves  is  no  mere  hypothesis  of  the 
fancy.  It  is  dictated  by  nature ; it  commends  itself  to  com- 
mon sense,  to  do  which  is  the  chief  glory  of  all  that  belongs 
to  mcommon  sense;  it  is  eminently  practical ; it  is  promo- 
tive, in  fact,  of  the  highest  aims  of  science  and  philosophy, 
metaphysical  no  less  than  physical.  Here  is  the  great  cer- 
tificate of  its  soundness.  For  while  the  ultimate  characte- 
ristic and  test  of  every  true  doctrine  concerning  nature  is 
that  no  phenomenon  in  the  universe  is  absolutely  beyond 
Uie  range  of  its  powers  of  interpretation,  the  immediate  and 


VALUE  OF  OUR  DOCTRINE  OF  LIFE. 


25 


proximate  test  lies  in  its  capacity  to  illuminate  every  path,  of 
human  inquiry,  whithersoever  it  may  lead.  Such  a doctrine 
has  not  only  a local  value  and  application,  but  is,  directly 
or  indirectly,  a clue  to  the  whole  mystery  of  creation.  Other 
doctrines  may  help  more  largely  in  particular  provinces,  but 
no  doctrine  is  so  generally  efficacious  as  this  grand  and  com- 
prehensive one  of  the  omnipresence  and  the  unity  of  life. 
Life  it  is  which  gives  to  the  universe  all  its  reality  as  well  as 
splendor,  so  that  the  larger  our  conception  of  life,  the  more 
nearly  do  we  approach  both  to  a just  appreciation  of  the 
magnificence  of  nature,  and  to  the  solution  of  her  stupen- 
dous problems.  Not  the  least  of  the  advantages  accessary 
to  the  doctrine  here  set  forth,  is  that  the  physiologist  who 
adopts  it,  instead  of  entering  on  his  inquiries  with  the  sense  of 
a great,  unnatural  gap  between  physiology  and  physics,  finds 
the  latter  not  only  adjoined,  but  an  instructive  introduction. 
He  ascends,  as  all  rational  philosophy  advises,  from  the  sim- 
ple to  the  complex.  Coleridge  clearly  exhibits  this  in  his 
“Theory  of  Life,”  above  cited;  Dr.  Kadcliffe  well  exemplifies 
it  in  his  “ Proteus,  or  the  Law  of  Nature.”  “As  an  earnest,” 
he  observes,  “ of  the  rich  harvest  which  is  to  come  when  the 
current  separation  of  physiology  from  physics  shall  be  for- 
gotten, several  phenomena  which  were  once  deemed  peculiar 
to  living  bodies  are  now  explained  by  ordinary  physical  in- 
fluences.” Looked  at  through  a single  science.  Life  is  unin- 
telligible ; for  the  sciences,  separately  taken,  are  but  like  the 
constituent  portions  of  a telescope,  we  can  only  see  properly 
by  connecting  them.  Physiology,  for  the  same  reason,  be- 
comes a pathway  and  preface  to  psychology,  which  inquired 
into  without  reference  to  physiology,  as  its  material  represen- 
tative, is  but  an  intellectual  ignis  fatuus.  Every  true  law 
in  metaphysics  has  a law  corresponding  to  it  in  physical 
nature,  and  the  latter  is  often  the  surest  clue  whereby  to 
find  it. 

3 B 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  SOTTMCE  OF  FIFE,  AND  THE  EATJONALE  OF  FIFE, 

8.  Life  is  no  part  of  God’s  works,  no  created  and  there- 
fore finite  substance;  neither  is  it  in  any  case  detached  from 
him,  or  independent  of  him.  As  the  rivers  move  along 
their  courses  only  as  they  are  renewed  from  perennial 
springs,  welling  up  where  no  eye  can  reach,  so  is  it  with 
life.  Genuine  philosophy  knows  of  no  life  in  the  universe 
but  what  is  momentarily  sustained  by  connection  with  its 
source,  with  Him  who  alone  hath  life  in  himself.”  The 
popular  notion,  which  sees  an  image  of  it  rather  in  the 
reservoir  of  water,  filled  in  the  first  place  from  the  spring, 
but  afterwards  cut  off*,  and  holding  an  independent  exist- 
ence, is  countenanced  neither  by  science  nor  revelation. 
How  can  independent  vitality  pertain  even  to  the  most 
insignificant  of  created  forms,  when  it  is  said  so  expressly 
that  ‘Gn  Him  all  things  live,  and  move,  and  have  their 
being?”  Even  man  has  no  life  of  his  own,  though  of 
nothing  are  people  more  fully  persuaded  than  that  they  live 
by  virtue  of  an  inborn  vital  energy,  to  maintain  which,  it 
needs  only  that  they  shall  feed  and  sleep.  Not  that  men 
deny  the  general  proposition  that  life  is  from  God,  and  in 
the  hands  of  God.  Every  one  is  willing  to  allow  that  he 
received  his  life  originally  from  the  Almighty,  and  that  the 
Almighty  takes  it  away  from  him  when  he  pleases.  Few, 
however,  are  willing  to  regard  themselves  as  existing  only 
by  virtue  of  his  constant  infiux,  which,  nevertheless,  is  the 
26 


THE  ESSENCE  OF  LIFE  UNDISCOVERABLE. 


27 


only  way  in  which  it  can  be  true  that  ‘‘  in  Him  we  live,  and 
move,  and  have  our  being/’  It  is  wounding  to  self-love 
and  to  the  pride  of  human  nature,  to  think  of  ourselves  as 
so  wholly  and  minutely  dependent  as  we  are,  moment  by 
moment,  day  and  night,  the  senses  all  the  while  insinuating 
the  reverse.  Moreover,  in  the  minds  of  most  men  there  is 
a strong  aversion  to  recognize  physical  effects  as  resulting 
from  spiritual  causes.  Towards  everything,  indeed,  which 
involves  a spiritual  element — which  lifts  us  above  the  region 
of  the  senses,  there  is  a deep-seated  dislike,  such  as  mere 
argument  is  perhaps  incapable  of  overcoming,  and  which 
can  only  give  way,  it  would  seem,  under  the  influence  of 
higher  moral  feelings.  Truly  to  understand  anything  of 
God’s  government  and  providence,  we  must  first  of  all  be 
faithful  to  his  revealed  law.  We  can  form  no  right  esti- 
mate, either  of  nature  or  of  life,  till  we  strive,  with  his 
divine  blessing,  to  become  in  ourselves  more  truly  human. 

9.  Uncreate  and  infinite,  it  follows  that  of  the  precise 
nature  of  this  grand,  all-sustaining  principle,  this  Life  as 
we  call  it,  man  must  be  content  to  remain  forever  unin- 
formed. Man  can  obtain  knowledge  only  of  finite  and 
created  things.  No  philosophy  will  ever  be  able  to  explain 
life,  seeing  that  to  explain”  is  to  consider  a phenomenon 
in  the  clearness  of  a superior  light,  and  that  life  is  itself 
and  already  the  highest  light.  However  it  may  be  mani- 
fested, to  man  life  can  never  be  anything  hut  life.  This  is 
no  misfortune ; perhaps  it  is  an  advantage.  It  is  impossible 
to  become  either  good  or  wise  unless  we  can  make  ourselves 
contented  to  remain  ignorant  of  many  things;  and  the 
grander  the  knowledges  we  must  learn  cheerfully  to  forego, 
the  more  useful  is  the  discipline.  As  there  is  a time  to 
get  and  a time  to  lose,”  so  is  there  a time  to  seek  and  a time 
to  refrain  from  seeking.  The  hypothesis  of  a vital  force,” 
by  v/hich  some  have  sought  to  account  for  life,  does  no  more 


28 


NATURAL  LAWS. 


than  pash  the  difficulty  a little  further  hack,  since  the  ques- 
tion immediately  arises,  AVhat  is  the  “vital  force,’^  and 
whence  derived  ? AVhether  we  contemplate  it  in  inorganic 
nature,  or  in  organic,  and  by  whatever  name  we  may  choose 
to  designate  it,  force  is  nowhere  innate,  nor  is  it  originally 
produced  or  producible  by  any  combinations  or  conditions 
of  matter,  viable  or  invisible.  Everywhere  in  the  consider- 
ation of  force,  we  are  told  of  a power  within  and  underlying 
that  which  we  are  contemplating.  Nowhere  do  we  find  the 
power  itself,  but  only  the  continent  of  the  power ; perhaps 
merely  the  sensible  effect  by  which  its  presence  is  indicated. 
No  forco,  in  a Avord,in  the  whole  range  of  material  nature, 
is  initiaL  The  utmost  point  to  which  science  can  convey  us, 
even  when  dealing  with  the  most  occult  and  recondite  phe- 
nomena— those  of  electricity  for  example — never  shows 
where  force  begins.  There  is  always  a still  anterior  force, 
which  cannot  be  found  except  by  the  light  of  Theology.  In 
philosophy,  as  in  trouble  and  in  death,  willing  or  unwilling, 
we  must  go  to  God  at  last. 

10.  Others  refer  life  to  the  “laws  of  nature.”  This, 
within  certain  limits,  is  perfectly  proper.  Life,  in  all  its 
varied  phases  and  manifestations,  does  come,  most  assuredly, 
of  the  “ laws  of  nature.”  The  error  is  to  remain  in  the  laws 
of  nature,  and  deem  that  life  comes  of  these  only.  Laws 
of  nature,  in  themselves,  have  no  more  efficacy  than  “vital 
force,”  and  have  as  little  independent  existence.  “In  all 
ages  of  the  world,”  says  Hitchcock,  “where  men  have  been 
enlightened  enough  to  reason  upon  the  causes  of  phenomena, 
a mysterious  and  a mighty  power  has  been  imputed  to  the 
laws  of  nature,  A large  portion  of  the  most  enlightened 
men  have  felt  as  if  these  laws  not  only  explain,  but  possess 
an  inherent  power  to  continue,  the  ordinary  operations  of 
nature.  But  what  is  a natural  law  without  the  presence 
and  energizing  power  of  the  limgiver  f Who  can  show  how 


GOD  ALONE  IS  LIFE. 


29 


a law  operates  except  through  the  influence  of  the  lawgiver? 
H6w  unphilosophical,  then,  to  separate  a law  of  nature  from 
the  Deity,  and  to  imagine  him  to  have  withdrawn  from  his 
works ! To  do  this  would  be  to  annihilate  the  law.  He 
must  be  present  every  moment,  and  direct  every  movement 
of  the  universe,  as  really  as  the  mind  of  man  must  be  in 
his  body  in  order  to  produce  movement  there.  The  law 
hypothesis  supposes  law  capable  of  doing  what  only  Infinite 
wisdom  and  power  can  do.  And  what  is  this  but  ascribing 
infinite  perfection  to  law,  and  making  a Deity  of  the  laws 
which  he  ordains?’^*  Law  of  itself  could  not  cause  or 
maintain  the  existence  of  a single  thing,  though  it  was  ac- 
cording to  law  all  things  were  created,  and  though  it  is  by 
the  same  primitive,  immutable  laws,  that  all  phenomena, 
both  material  and  spiritual,  are  effectuated.  It  is  the  life 
underlying  the  law  which  causes  and  sustains.  The  law  is 
merely  the  mode  of  the  putting  forth  of  that  life ; the  rule 
of  its  action ; the  definite  method  in  which  the  internal.  Di- 
vine, dynamic  principle  is  projected.  Nature  has  no  inde- 
pendent activity,  no  causality  of  its  own.  God  is  the  only 
independent  existence,  and  he  is  the  cause  of  all  causes. 
He  alone  hath  life  in  himself.  Proximately,  the  universe, 
and  all  that  it  contains,  is  ^at(;-governed : but  it  is  at  the 
same  time  fundamentally  and  essentially  God-governed. 
Animals  and  plants,  in  their  vital  processes,  the  external 
world  and  all  its  changes,  alike  declare  a Divine  beginning. 
God  it  is  who  displays  the  manifold  lovely  phenomena  which 
render  the  earth,  the  air,  the  sea,  and  their  vicissitudes, 
pictures  so  vivid  of  human  experience.  The  tossing  of  the 
white-crested  waves;  the  gliding  of  the  clouds  before  the 
wind ; the  daily  illumination,  and  the  morning  and  evening 
painting  of  the  sky ; the  glitter  of  the  stars ; the  rainbow, 


Keligion  of  Geology.  Lecture  ix. 


30 


THE  PRIMITIVE  ELEMENTS  OF  MATTER. 


these,  and  all  other  such  things,  come  of  the  watchful  and 
benevolent  activity  of  our  living  Father  in  the  heavens,  who 
is  never  a mere  spectator,  much  less  an  indifferent  one,  either 
in  terrestrial  or  in  spiritual  things ; still  are  they  in  no  case 
exercises  of  mere  lawless  fiat. 

11.  The  very  existence  of  the  earth  as  a planetary  mass 
depends,  but  in  a proximate  sense,  on  the  ‘Maws  of  nature.’’ 
The  same  is  true  of  the  various  materials  which  compose  it; 
water,  for  example,  formed  under  the  influence  of  the  natural 
law  which  science  calls  “chemical  affinity.”  Let  the  affinity 
be  annulled, — in  other  words,  let  the  Divine  life  cease  to  act 
upon  the  constituent  oxygen  and  hydrogen,  no  longer  im- 
pelling them  to  combine, — and  every  drop  would  instantly 
decompose  and  disappear.  Under  a similar  withdrawal 
of  sustaining  energy,  every  solid  and  fluid  of  nature,  even 
the  solids  we  call  simple  and  primitive,  would  depart; 
massive  and  impregnable  as  it  seems,  the  whole  of  this  great 
globe  would  dissolve  into  thin  air  and  vanish.  For  just  as 
water  is  resolvable  into  oxygen  and  hydrogen,  so  are  these 
latter,  along  with  the  solid  elements,  the  metals,  phosphorus, 
iodine,  &c.,  resolvable  into  yet  finer  elements,  into  which, 
unless  supported  by  the  Divine  life,  they  would  similarly 
decompose.  The  actually  primitive  elements  of  our  earth, 
instead  of  fifty-five  or  fifty-six,  are  probably  only  two.  The 
tendency,  without  doubt,  if  we  look  only  at  one  department 
of  chemical  inquiry,  seems  of  late  to  have  been  towards  an 
increase  of  the  number  rather  than  to  a diminution;  the 
profounder  investigations  of  natural  philosophers  dispose 
them,  however,  more  strongly  every  day,  to  refer  back  the 
whole  to  a simple  flagrant  or  inflammable  body,  and  a pure 
conflagrant  body,  or  supporter  of  fire;  in  other  words,  to  an 
active  substance  and  a passive.  The  analysis  of  one  will 
lead  to  the  reduction  of  all  the  rest,  and  establish  the  true 
principla  whereby  the  science  of  chemistry  will  be  coiisum- 


RELATION  OF  THE  WORLD  TO  GOD. 


31 


mated.  Science,  be  it  remembered,  has  never  made  a single 
step  except  in  the  wake  of  imagination ; the  practical  ideas 
of  one  age  have  all  been  begotten  of  the  impractical  of  a 
former;  the  morning  star  of  all  philosophy  is  poetry.  Gold, 
silver,  oxygen,  &c.,  probably  come  each  one  of  them  of  a 
special  play  of  affinity  between  the  molecules  of  the  two 
primitives,  having  a corollary  in  the  resulting  products  of 
absolute  and  relative  ductility,  elasticity,  &c.,  such  as  causes 
gold  to  be  where  we  find  gold,  silver  where  we  find  silver,  as 
accurately  and  inevitably  as  the  affinities  which  take  place 
between  the  atoms  of  gold,  silver,  oxygen,  &c.,  give  origin, 
in  turn,  to  oxides,  acids,  earths,  alkalies.  Whether  there  be 
any  yet  earlier  conditions  of  matter  than  these  two  can  only 
be  reasoned  upon  from  analogy.  It  is  not  within  the  ability 
of  man  to  compass  with  actual  knowledge  either  the  maxi- 
mum natures  or  the  minimum, 

12.  Though  the  Divine,  by  means  of  his  life,  be  thus  the 
basis  of  all  nature,  even  its  minutest  atom,  we  are  not  to 
confound  him  with  nature; — this  would  be  even  worse  than 
the  ascription  of  everything  to  “Law.”  Superfluous  as  it 
may  seem  after  the  distinct  references  that  have  been  made, 
it  is  well,  perhaps,  that  upon  this  great  and  sacred  point  we 
should  have,  before  going  any  further,  a full  and  explicit 
understanding.  The  ancients  described  the  world  as  a huge 
animal,  vitalized  by  an  impersonal  xoa/wu,  or  anima 
mundi.  Even  in  modern  times  we  have  seen  it  taught  that — 

“ All  are  but  parts  of  one  stupendous  whole. 

Whose  body  nature  is,  and  God  the  soul.’’ 

Commonly  termed  “Pantheism,”  this  is,  properly  speaking, 
Atheism,  Pantheism,  rightly  so  called,  is  the  doctrine  which 
sinks  nature  in  God.  “This  was  the  pantheism  of  the 
famous  Spinoza,  which  some  people  have  been  so  foolish  as  to 
call  atheism.  Spinoza  was  so  absorbed  in  the  idea  of  God,  that 


32 


GOD  AND  NATURE  DISTINCT. 


he  oonhl  see  nothing  else.”  Pantheism  is  the  most  unreason- 
able of  doctrines;  atheism  the  most  mean  and  gross.  God 
is  God,  and  nature  is  nature.  Intimately  connected  with 
each  other,  yet  are  they  absolutely  distinct.  Nature  is  an 
utterance  of  the  divine  mind,  clothed  in  material  configura- 
tions and  phenomena, — flowing  from  it  as  words  from  the 
underlying  thought,  or  the  deeds  of  friendship  from  its  sen- 
timent; God  himself  reigns  apart  from  it,  in  the  heavens. 
No  true  conception  of  nature  can  be  attained,  any  more 
than  a true  doctrine  of  the  grounds  and  uses  of  religion, 
till  this  great  truth  of  the  separateness,  and  therefore  the 
personality  of  God,  be  acknowledged  and  felt.  For  even  to 
think  only  of  wisdom,  power,  omnipresence,  &c.,  is  not  to 
think  of  God;  it  is  but  to  think  of  a mere  catalogue  of 
abstractions;  the  terms  are  meaningless  till  impersonated, 
till  we  connect  them,  in  short,  with  Him  who  said, — “He 
who  hath  seen  me  hath  seen  the  Father,” — “the  man  Christ 
Jesus,  who  is  over  all,  God  blessed  forever.”  It  is  the  im- 
mediate consciousness  of  a supreme  and  eternal  unity,  as 
Cams  finely  remarks,  which  enables  us  to  distinguish  the 
just,  the  true,  and  the  beautiful;  so  that  demonstrations  of 
true  science  exist,  in  fact,  only  for  those  who  set  out  with 
the  idea  of  God  in  Christ  as  the  beginning;  studying  nature 
from  him  rather  than  towards  him.  It  is  good  to  “look 
from  Nature  up  to  Nature’s  God,”  but  it  is  better  and  best 
to  look  at  nature  from  its  framer  and  sustainer.  There 
would  be  no  falling  into  pantheism,  no  forgetting  the  Creator 
in  the  creature,  were  this  always  made  the  starting-point  in 
the  survey.  The  humanity  of  Christ  is  the  true  beginning 
of  all  wisdom  and  philosophy,  no  less  than  the  immediate 
avenue  to  redemption.  Not  that  the  idea  of  God  can  be 
entertained  irrespectively  of  nature;  each  idea  is  needful  to 
the  apprehension  of  the  other.  “He,”  says  Franz  Von 
r>aader,  “who  seeks  in  nature,  nature  only,  and  not  reason; 


CREATION  FOREVER  IN  PROGRESS. 


he  who  seeks  in  the  latter,  reason  only,  and  not  God ; and 
he  who  seeks  reason  out  of  or  apart  from  God,  or  God  out 
of  or  apart  from  reason,  will  find  neither  nature,  reason,  nor 
God,  but  will  assuredly  lose  them  all  three.’’ 

13.  In  the  ‘‘laws  of  nature,”  accordingly,  we  have  not 
“ blind,  unintellectual  fatalities,”  but  expressions  of  Divine 
volitions.  They  appear  to  us  independent  and  sufficient, 
because  God  never  discloses  himself  directly — only  through 
some  medium.  The  world  is  full  of  apparent  truths ; they 
enter  largely  into  our  very  commonest  experiences ; a stick 
immersed  in  water  appears  to  be  broken ; the  banks  of  a 
river  seem  to  move  as  w^e  sail  past ; the  coast  seems  to  re- 
cede from  the  departing  ship ; a burning  coal  swung  quickly 
round  seems  a ring  of  fire.  So  with  the  “laws  of  nature.” 
To  the  eye  of  the  senses  they  are  one  thing ; to  the  eye  of 
true  philosophy  quite  another.  Seeming  to  accomplish  all, 
in  reality  they  accomplish  nothing.  Oersted  never  wrote  a 
finer  truth  than  that  “ the  conception  of  the  universe  is  in- 
complete, if  not  comprehended  as  a constant  and  continuous 
work  of  the  eternally-creating  Spirit;”  nor  Emerson,  in  re- 
lation to  the  same  fact,  that  “ it  takes  as  much  life  to  con- 
serve as  to  create,^’  Because  of  these  great  verities  is  it  that 
to  study  the  laws  of  nature  is  in  reality  to  study  the  modes 
of  God’s  action;  that  science  is  simply  “a  history  of  the 
Divine  operations  in  matter  and  mind ;”  that  the  world, 
with  all  its  antiquity,  is  every  moment  a new  creation,  the 
song  of  the  morning  stars  unsuspended  and  unsuspendable 
to  the  ear  that  will  listen  for  it,  a virgin  to  every  fresh 
wooer  of  the  Beautiful  and  the  True. 

14.  How  close  does  it  bring  the  Creator  to  us  thus  to  re- 
gard him  not  so  much  as  having  made  the  world,  as  still 
engaged  in  making  it;  i,  e.,  by  supplying  the  life  on  which 
its  laws,  and  thus  its  being  and  incidents,  depend.  It  is  an 
ill-constructed  theology  which  regards  God  as  having  created 


34 


LfFE  BEGINS  IN  ACTION  AND  REACTION. 


only  in  past  ages.  A gorgeous  sunset,  the  leafing  of  a tree 
in  the  sweet  spring-time,  betokens  the  Divine  liand  no  less 
palpably  than  did  the  miracles  which  provided  the  hungry 
multitudes  of  Galilee  with  food.  “ Depend  upon  it,’’  says 
an  eloquent  preacher,  depend  upon  it,  it  is  not  the  want 
of  greater  miracles,  but  of  the  soul  to  perceive  such  as  are 
allowed  us  still,  that  makes  us  push  all  the  sanctities  into 
the  far  spaces  we  cannot  reach.  The  devout  feel  that  where- 
ever  God’s  hand  is,  there  is  miracle,  and  it  is  simply  an  un- 
devoutness  which  imagines  that  only  where  miracle  is,  can 
there  be  the  real  hand  of  God.  The  customs  of  heaven 
ought  surely  to  be  more  sacred  in  our  eyes  than  its  anomalies ; 
the  dear  old  ways  of  which  the  Almighty  is  never  tired,  than 
the  strange  things  which  he  does  not  love  well  enough  to  re- 
peat. He  who  will  but  discern  beneath  the  sun,  as  he  rises 
any  morning,  the  supjDorting  finger  of  the  Almighty,  may 
recover  the  sweet  and  reverent  surprise  with  which  Adam 
gazed  on  the  first  dawn  in  Paradise;  and  if  we  cannot 
find  him  there,  if  we  cannot  find  him  on  the  margin  of  the 
sea,  or  in  the  flowers  by  the  way-side,  I do  not  think  we 
should  have  discovered  him  any  more  on  the  grass  of  Geth- 
semane  or  Olivet.” 

15.  Uncreate  and  infinite,  it  follows,  in  addition  to  conse- 
quences specified,  that  Life  as  to  its  essence  is  no  subject  for 
scientific  consideration.  All  that  science  can  do  is  to  investi- 
gate the  circumstances  under  which  it  is  manifested,  and  the 
effects  which  it  produces.  Carefully  studying  these,  and 
along  with  them,  the  processes  of  life,  we  may  learn,  how- 
ever, the  rationale  of  its  action,  next  to  the  nature  of  life, 
the  grandest  fact  in  its  philosophy,  and  the  centre  and  foun- 
dation of  all  true  and  great  ideas  of  life;  therefore  a benign 
and  animating  compensation.  Narrowly  looked  at,  under- 
lying every  ])lienomenon  of  the  material  world,  and  under- 
lying every  psychological  occurrence,  there  is  found  a fixed, 


UNIVERSAL  DUALISM  OF  NATURE. 


35 


causative  relation  of  Two  things,  or  Two  principles,  as  the 
case  may  be,  different  and  unequal,  yet  of  such  a difference, 
and  such  an  inequality,  that  like  man  and  woman,  who  con- 
stitute the  type  and  interpretation  of  the  whole  of  nature, 
both  visible  and  invisible,  each  Ts  the  complement  of  the 
other ; one  being  gifted  with  energy  to  act,  the  other  with 
equal  energy  and  aptitude  to  react.  All  phenomena,  alike 
of  matter  and  of  mind,  resolve  into  this  dual  virtus.  Whether 
physical  or  spiritual,  animal  or  vegetable.  Life  always  pre- 
sents itself  as  communicated  through  this  one  simple  for- 
mula, the  reeiprocal  action  and  reaction  of  complementaries. 
Where  there  are  greatest  variety  and  complexity  of  action 
and  reaction,  all  the  results  converging  at  the  same  time,  to 
one  great  end,  as  in  plants,  animals,  and  man,  the  presenta- 
tions are  the  grandest ; where  there  is  least  of  such  variety, 
and  no  such  immediate  reference,  as  in  the  phenomena  of 
inorganic  chemistry,  there  the  presentations  are  the  humblest. 
The  great  cosmic  phenomena  induced  by  Gravitation,  Elec- 
tricity, &c.,  comprising  everything  studied  by  the  astronomer, 
the  meteorologist,  and  the  electrician,  form  no  exception. 
Binary  causes  lie  at  the  base  of  all.  The  sun  and  moon 
cast  their  light  upon  us ; the  rain  falls  and  the  waves  roll ; 
the  spheres  preserve  their  rotundity,  and  persevere  in  their 
motions,  all  as  the  result  of  underlying  dual  forces.  The 
Fabric  of  nature,  like  its  phenomena,  resolves,  everywhere, 
into  dualities.  Land  and  water,  male  and  female,  the 
straight  line  and  the  curve,  do  but  express  prominently,  a 
universal  principle.  The  Elements,  we  have  already  seen, 
are  probably,  only  Two. 

16.  The  ground  of  this  wonderful,  all-pervading  dualism, 
and  concurrent  action  and  reaction,  producing  the  magnifi- 
cent results  we  call  Nature  and  Life,  lies  in  the  very  nature 
of  God  himself,  who  is  not  so  much  the  ingenious  deviser 
and  designer,  displaying  in  the  world  the  contrivances  of 


36 


PRINCIPLES  UNDERLYING  THIS  DUALISM. 


Hkill,  as  its  Archetype  and  Exemplar.  That  is  to  say,  the 
world  is  what  we  find  it,  not  so  much  because  he  willed  it  to 
be  so,  arbitrarily,  as  because  of  his  containing,  in  his  own 
nature,  the  first  principles  of  its  whole  fabric  and  economy. 
It  pictures  in  finites,  what  he  is  in  infinites.  Infinite  AVis- 
dom  and  Infinite  Goodness,  or  Love,  as  we  have  seen  in 
another  place,*  are  shown  both  by  natural  and  revealed 
theology,  to  be  the  all-comprehending  essentials  of  the  Di- 
vine ; omnipotence,  omniscience,  justice,  mercy,  and  every 
other  attribute,  inhering  in,  and  manifesting  and  fulfilling 
these  two.  In  these  two  principles  all  things  have  their  be- 
ginning ; in  all  things  therefore  are  they  embodied  and  re- 
presented. AVherever  there  is  life,  the  Divine  AVisdom  and 
Goodness  are  consentaneously  and  fundamentally  declared. 
In  one  we  may  fancy  the  Divine  Art  shows  most  conspicu- 
ous, in  another  the  Divine  Power ; but  the  true  seeing  finds 
these  no  more  than  outer  circles,  enclosing  Love  and  AVis- 
dom  as  the  inmost.  In  that  admirable  adaptation  and 
aptitude  of  things  to  act  and  react,  and  thus  to  enter  into  a 
relation  of  which  marriage  is  the  highest  exponent,  consists, 
accordingly,  the  whole  principle  of  living  action.  There  is 
no  other  source  of  phenomena,  either  in  the  animated  or  the 
inanimate  world,  and  wherever  it  brings  things  and  natures 
into  contact,  reciprocally  adapted  each  to  the  other,  life  im- 
mediately appears,  beautiful  and  exuberant.  God  made 
things  complementary  on  purpose  that  they  should  unite, 
and  open  channels  wherein  his  life  should  have  new  outlet  ; 
until  conjoined,  and  they  have  opened  such  new  channels, 
they  are  everywhere  restless  and  erratic;  everywhere  in 
earth  and  heaven,  equilibrium  comes  of  well  assorted  mar- 
riage, or  union  of  complementaries,  and  there  is  no  equili- 


* Sexuality  of  Nature, wherein  the  whole  subject  of  the  dualities 
and  reciprocal  principles  of  nature  is  exhibited  and  illustrated 


LIFE  REPRESENTED  IN  MARRIAGE. 


37 


brium  independent  of  it.  Nothing,  moreover,  so  surely 
brings  disorder  and  unhappiness,  as  interference  with  natu- 
ral affinities,  and  neglecting  to  be  guided  by  them.  Using 
the  word  in  the  high  and  holy  sense  which  alone  properly 
attaches  to  it,  i.  e.,  as  signifying  the  conjunction  of  princi- 
ples and  affections,  and  only  in  a secondary  and  derivative 
sense,  the  conjunction  of  persons — the  union  of  the  proto- 
typal, all-creative  Wisdom  and  Goodness  in  the  Divine,  is 
itself  a marriage ; so  that  Life  might  not  inappropriately  be 
described  as  the  playing  forth  of  the  principle  of  which  cor- 
poreal marriage  is  the  last  effect.  The  development  of  a 
new  living  creature,  that  is,  of  a new  incarnation  of  life, 
when  there  is  externalized  love  between  man  and  woman 
(who  in  matrimony  rightfully  so  called,  constitute  the  finite 
picture  and  counterpart  of  the  Almighty),  is  the  very  sym- 
bol and  emblem  of  the  development  of  life.  What  the 
babe  is  to  its  parents,  such  is  life,  as  to  its  presentation  in 
phenomena,  to  the  action  and  reaction  of  the  two  things  or 
two  natures  underlying  it. 

4 


CHAPTER  III. 


THE  VABIETIES  OF  FIFE—  OTtGANIC  LIFE ^ THE  VITAZ 
STI3rUEI.” 

17.  Primarily,  the  manifestation  of  life  is  twofold,  phy- 
sical and  spiritual.  Physical  life  is  life  as  expressed  in  the 
constituents  of  the  material  or  external  world,  giving  exist- 
ence to  whatever  is  cognizable  by  the  senses.  Spiritual  life 
is  that  which  gives  vitality  to  the  soul;  underlying  thought 
and  feeling,  animating  the  intellect  and  the  affections,  and 
sustaining  all  that  is  contained  in  the  invisible,  non-material, 
or  spiritual  world.  Spiritual  life,  so  far  as  it  is  allowed  the 
finite  mind  to  perceive,  is  expressed  in  only  one  mode:  Phy- 
sical life  is  expressed  in  two  modes,  namely,  as  observable, 
(1)  in  the  inorganic  half  of  the  material  creation ; (2)  in  the 
organic  half.  The  latter,  which  may  be  called  Organic  or 
Physiological  life,  presents  the  further  distinction  of  life  as 
it  is  in  animals,  (including  the  material  body,  or  animal 
half  of  man;)  and  life  as  it  is  in  vegetables.  Put  into  a 
tabular  form,  the  several  distinctions  may  be  apprehended 
at  a glance: — 


A.  Inorganic. 


'1.  Physical 
or 


The  expression 
of  Life  is : — 


Natural. 


B.  Organic 
or 


( 2.  Spiritual  Physiological, 

or 


Psychological. 


38 


LIFE  COMMENSURATE  WITH  USE. 


39 


Inorganic  life  is  the  lowest  expression;  Vegetable  succeeds; 
Animal  life  comes  next;  and  highest  is  the  Spiritual.  Won- 
derful and  truly  miraculous  is  it  that  a single  and  purely 
simple  element  should  be  presented  under  such  diverse 
aspects,  the  extremes  far  apart  as  earth  and  heaven,  though 
it  is  not  without  some  striking  illustrative  imagery  in  objec- 
tive nature,  where  the  same  substance  is  occasionally  found 
under  widely  dissimilar  forms,  as  happens  with  charcoal 
and  the  diamond,  both  of  which  consist  essentially  of  carbon. 
There  is  a grand  and  beautiful  law,  however,  in  the  light 
of  which  the  whole  matter  becomes  intelligible;  namely, 
that  the  communication  of  life  from  God  is  always  in  the 
exact  ratio  of  the  Use  and  Destiny  of  the  recipient  object  in 
the  general  economy  of  Creation.  The  more  princely  the 
heritage  of  office,  always  the  more  beautiful  and  complex  is 
the  Form  of  the  object,  and  commensurately  with  this,  the 
more  exalted  is  the  presentation,  and  the  more  noble  the 
operation,  of  the  life  which  fills  it.  This  is  the  great  funda- 
mental principle  to  which  are  referable  all  diversity  of 
structure  and  configuration  in  nature,  all  dissimilitude  of 
substance  and  organization,  and  all  variety  in  the  force  and 
amount  of  Life.  It  may  be  illustrated  by  the  operation, 
under  its  various  opportunities,  of  water,  which  in  compo- 
sition and  inherent  capabilities,  is  everywhere  precisely  the 
same.  In  connection  with  machinery,  which  is  like  the 
complicated  and  elaborate  structure  of  organized  bodies,  we 
see  it  either  turning  the  huge  mill-wheel  by  the  river;  or 
heated  into  steam,  making  a thousand  wheels  whirl  in  con- 
cert; and  in  either  case  promoting  mightiest  ends  and  uses. 
Away  from  machinery,  and  merely  gliding  as  a stream 
towards  the  sea,  it  serves  but  to  carry  onwards  the  boat  that 
mav  be  launched  upon  it.  Lying  as  a still  lake,  among  the 
unpeopled  and  silent  mountains,  its  energy  seems  depressed 
into  inertia,  though  at  any  moment  that  energy  is  capable 


40 


INORGANIC  LIFE. 


of  being  played  forth,  in  all  its  astounding  plenitude,  give  it 
but  the  adequate  medium.  So  with  the  Divine  life  in  tlie 
universe.  In  the  words  of  a powerful  writer,  “Tlie  material 
world,  with  its  objects  sublimely  great  or  meanly  little,  as 
we  judge  them;  its  atoms  of  dust,  its  orbs  of  fire;  the  rock 
that  stands  by  the  sea-shore,  the  water  that  wears  it  away; 
the  worm,  a birth  of  yesterday,  which  we  trample  under 
foot;  the  streets  of  constellations  that  gleam  perennial  over- 
head; the  aspiring  palm-tree  fixed  to  one  spot,  and  the  lions 
that  are  sent  out  free;  these  incarnate  and  make  visible  all 
of  God  their  natures  will  admit,’’  that  is,  all  of  his  Life 
they  are  competent  to  receive  and  play  forth,  by  virtue  of 
their  respective  offices  in  the  system  of  the  world,  and  the 
forms  they  hold  in  harmony  therewith.  Carbon  in  the 
shape  of  diamond  has  a nobler  destiny  than  carbon  in  the 
shape  of  charcoal;  therefore  it  receives  that  intenser  com- 
munication of  life  which  is  so  exquisitely  phenomenon ized 
in  crystallization,  and  the  concurrent  translucency  and 
brightness.  The  soul  has  a nobler  destiny  than  the  body; 
therefore  has  it  the  imperial  life  whereby  it  travels  whither 
it  will,  piercing  space  to  its  utmost  bound,  centrifugal  as 
light. 

18.  Inorganic  life,  the  first-named  of  these  three  great 
varieties  or  manifestations  of  the  vitalizing  principle,  has 
been  illustrated  in  the  preceding  chapters.  It  will  suffice  to 
add  here,  that  it  has  nothing  in  common  with  organic  or 
physiological  life,  much  less  with  the  spiritual ; nothing,  that 
is  to  say,  except  the  Divine  origin  and  sustentation.  The 
recipient  forms  occupy  a plane  of  their  own,  in  every  sense 
subordinate  and  distinct,  and  the  phenomena  which  they 
exhibit  bear  not  the  slightest  similarity  to  those  manifested 
upon  the  superior  planes,  as  regards  any  strict  and  essential 
resemblance.  The  generalization  by  which  it  is  associated 
with  the  higher  varieties,  proposes  to  view  it  as  that  particu- 


THE  ORGANIC  EXPRESSION  OF  LIFE. 


41 


lar  expression  of  the  universal  Divine  energy  whereby  inani- 
mate things  ‘‘have  their  being/’  just  as  under  another  ex- 
pression, animate  things  have  theirs,  and  nothing  more.  Ihe 
second  variety,  the  Organic  or  Physiological  expression  of 
Life, — that  which  vitalizes  plants  and  animals,  and  the  ma- 
terial body  of  man, — is  so  called  because  of  the  playing 
forth  of  its  phenomena  through  the  medium  of  special  in- 
struments or  organs,  as  in  animals,  the  limbs,  the  heart,  the 
brain,  &c.,  and  in  plants,  the  leaves,  the  flowers,  the  stamens, 
&c.  Mineral  substances,  though  they  sometimes  possess  a 
very  beautiful  configuration,  and  even  a kind  of  internal 
arrangement  of  parts,  as  seen  in  agates,  never  possess  dis- 
tinct organic  members.  These  pertain  peculiarly  to  plants 
and  animals,  the  sole  subjects  and  recipients  of  organic  life. 
Taking  the  word  in  its  literal  and  most  general  sense,  the 
phenomena  of  the  Spiritual  life  are  organic,  being  played 
forth  like  those  of  physiological  life,  through  special  instru- 
ments ; the  very  same  instruments  in  fact.  It  is  legitimate, 
nevertheless,  to  restrict  the  name  to  physiological  life  and 
phenomena,  seeing  that  the  latter  take  precedence  of  the 
spiritual,  both  in  extent  and  diffusion,  and  in  order  of  mani- 
festation. The  race  of  beings  alone  recipient  of  spiritual 
life  constitutes  (as  regards  earth)  the  least  part  of  living 
nature,  and  every  member  of  it  is  animal  before  human. 
The  Organic  is  the  expression  of  life  which,  as  the  prime 
instrument  of  all  man’s  temporal  enjoyments,  has  in  every  age 
allured  his  intensest  interest.  Its  facts  and  mysteries  have  com- 
mended themselves  to  his  intellect  as  the  peerage  of  science 
and  philosophy,  the  alpha  and  the  omega  of  all  natural 
knowledge.  If,  says  Aristotle,  the  knowledge  of  things  be- 
coming and  honorable  be  deservedly  held  in  high  estima- 
tion ; and  if  there  be  any  species  of  knowledge  more  exqui- 
site than  another,  either  upon  account  of  its  accuracy,  or  of 
the  objects  to  which  it  relates  being  more  excellent  or  won- 


i2 


DEFINITIONS  OF  LIFE. 


dcrful ; we  should  not  hesitate  to  pronounce  the  history  of  tlie 
animating  principle  as  justly  entitled  to  hold  the  first  rank.* * * § 
With  all  enthusiasm  and  assiduity  accordingly,  have  chemis- 
try, anatomy,  and  physiology,  toiled  at  the  splendid  theme. 
Theories  innumerable  have  been  devised  with  a view  to  its 
elucidation;  all  however,  in  vain,  because  framed  in  the 
sunless  chambers  of  an  exclusively  secular  philosophy. 
Esteemed  by  some  the  cause  of  organization,  by  others  its 
consequence;  imagined  at  different  periods  to  be  fire,t  light, 
oxygen,!  electricity,§  and  galvanism,  ‘‘still  the  exulting 
Eureka  has  not  been  uttered,  either  in  the  laboratory,  the 
dissecting-room,  or  the  schools  of  the  savans.  The  enigma 
has  continued  to  baffle  all  the  propounders  of  solutions; — 
the  heart  of  nature’s  mystery  has  not  been  plucked  out, 
even  by  the  most  vigorous  of  the  wisest  of  her  sons.”  Pur- 
sued as  a matter  of  purely  scientific  inquiry,  researches  into 


* T(t)v  Ka\(ov  Kal  Ti[il(x}p  K.  r.  X.,  nepi  ^vxrjs,  Book  i.,  chap.  1,  the  open- 
ing sentence. 

f Among  those  who  held  this  very  ancient  doctrine  was  Hippo- 
crates. He  considered  heat  not  only  the  foundation  of  life,  but  as 
the  Divinity  itself,  intelligent  and  immortal. — AoKki  hk  poi  o KoXionsvov 
Oe.pfxdv  dOdvarov  re  eivaiy  Kai  voeiv  pavra,  k,  r.  X.  Works,  sec.  iii.,  p.  249. 
Foesius^  Edit.,  1621.  Relics  of  this  belief  survive  in  the  phrases 
vital  spark,  the  flame  of  life,  &c.  See  for  curious  illustrations, 
Bishop  Berkeley’s  Sirisj  sections  152  to  214. 

t As  by  Girtanner,  Journal  de  Physique,  &c.,  tome  37,  p.  139. 
See  also  Bostock’s  Elementary  System  of  Physiology,  vol.  1,  p.  209, 
1824. 

§ This  has  been  a very  favorite  hypothesis,  and  still  meets  with 
approval.  Abernethy,  for  one,  regarded  electricity  “not  merely  as 
tlie  prime  agent  in  sensation,  but  as  even  constituting  the  essence  of 
life  itself.”  See  his  “Inquiry,  &c.,  into  Hunter’s  Theory  of  Life,” 
j)p.  26,  30,  35,  80,  &c.,  1814.  It  is  singular  to  find  this  intelligent 
writer  sliding  into  materialism  at  the  very  time  when  he  is  directing 
the  force  of  liis  genius  against  it. 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  ORGANIZED  BEINGS. 


43 


the  mystery  of  life  cannot  possibly  have  any  other  termina- 
tion, seeing  that  to  follow  such  a course  is  to  attend  merely 
to  Effects,  and  to  entirely  disregard  and  disown  the  Cause. 
Look  at  the  results  of  the  countless  strivings  to  contrive  9 
descriptive  name  for  the  wily  Proteus; — vital  principle,  vis 
vitce,  vital  spirit,  impetum  faeiens,  spirit  of  animation,  organic 
force,  organic  agent,  vis  plastica,  materia  vitce  diffusa^  &c., 
&c. ; — what  do  they  amount  to  beyond  a tacit  confession  of 
total  inability?  Look  at  the  attempts,  scarcely  fewer,  that 
have  been  made  at  a definition  of  life.  If  they  have  not 
been  mere  substitutions  of  many  words  for  one,  adding 
nothing  to  our  previous  knowledge,  they  have  been  similarly 
fruitless  exercises  in  a few.  When  Bichat,  for  instance, 
opens  his  celebrated  Recherches  Physiologiques  sur  la  Vie 
et  la  Mort,”  by  defining  life  as  ‘Hhe  sum  of  the  functions 
by  which  death  is  resisted,’’*  what  is  it,  as  Coleridge  well 
asks,  but  a circuitous  way  of  saying  that  life  consists  in  being 
able  to  live?  As  little  to  the  purpose  is  Dr.  Fletcher,  when 
he  says  that  ^‘Life  consists  in  the  sum  of  the  characteristic 
actions  of  organized  beings,  performed  in  virtue  of  a speci- 
fic susceptibility,  acted  upon  by  specific  stimuli;”  or  Eich- 
erand,  when  he  tells  us  that  ‘‘Life  consists  in  the  aggregate 
of  those  phenomena  which  manifest  themselves  in  succession 
for  a limited  time  in  organized  beings.”  Neither  of  them 
explains  anything.  Even  the  attempt,  last  in  point  of  time, 
and  from  the  lesson  of  others’  errors,  presumable  to  be  best 


* “La  vie  est  V ensemble  des  fonctions  qui  resistent  d la  mortj^  See 
the  remarks  on  this  much  criticized  sentence  in  the  edition  of  Bichat 
by  Cerise.  Nouvelle  Mition,  Paris,  1852,  p.  274.  Auguste  Compte, 
a mere  bookman  in  such  subjects,  devotes  a long  argument  in  his 
Fkilosophie  Positive  (tome  3,  p.  288,)  to  what  he  calls,  with  most 
amusing  complacency,  the  profonde  irrationalite  of  his  great  country- 
man. 


44 


DEFINITIONS  OF  LIFE. 


in  execution, — that  of  Herbert  Spencer,  wlio  devotes  the 
whole  of  the  third  part  of  his  masterly  Elements  of  Psycho- 
logy to  the  consideration  of  the  subject,  bringing  up  by 
careful  and  steady  steps  to  the  conclusion  that  ‘Hhe  broadest 
and  most  complete  definition  of  life  will  be  the  continuous 
adjustment  of  mternal  relations  to  external  relations^ — even 
this  deals  but,  like  the  others,  with  the  phenomena  of  life. 
It  is  no  ‘‘definition,’’ — merely  a statement  of  certain  signs 
of  life.  If  we  are  to  understand  by  the  word  “ Life”  simply 
the  attestations  of  its  presence, — the  signs,  and  nothing 
more, — these  several  authors  have  done  as  well,  perhaps,  as 
the  subject  permits.  But  in  that  case  we  are  left  precisely 
where  we  were.  Life  itself,  the  thing  attested,  has  yet  to  be 
defined,  and  requires  a distinct  and  superior  name.  Some 
“definitions”  have  been  couched  in  a single  word,  “Assimi- 
lation” for  example.  But  as  in  the  preceding  cases,  what  is 
assimilation  more  than  a circumstance  of  life?  Were  assimi- 
lation life  itself,  we  should  know  all  about  the  latter  so  soon 
as  we  had  noted  the  assimilating  process,  by  means  of  a 
little  chemistry,  in  the  green  duckweed  of  the  standing  pool. 
In  no  way  is  it  more  paramount  than  reproduction  is.  As 
well  might  Life  be  defined  to  be  Death,  seeing  that  death  is 
the  universal  end. 

19.  In  the  phenomena  just  adverted  to,  namely,  the  As- 
similation of  food  internally,  and  Reproduction  of  the 
species  in  direct  descent ; followed  after  a given  period  of 
activity,  by  Death,  consist  the  grand  characteristics  of  Or- 
ganized beings.  However  plants  and  animals  may  differ 
among  themselves,  this  threefold  history  pertains  to  every 
species  without  exception.  Functions,  accordingly,  even 
more  decidedly  than  organs,  distinguish  the  members  of  the 
Vegetal)le  and  Animal  kingdoms  from  the  Mineral.  It  Is 
important  to  observe  this,  because  in  many  of  the  humbler 
kinds  of  animals  and  plants,  organs  strictly  so  called,  are 


VITAL  TISSUE. 


45 


not  developed.  In  the  Protococcus  or  red-snow  pi  am,  the 
whole  apparatus  of  life  is  concentrated  into  the  compass  of 
a single  microscopic  cell.  Assimilation  and  Reproduction 
are  performed  there  nevertheless,  proving  that  separate  and 
complex  organs  are  non-essential  to  them.  It  follows  that 
the  absolute,  unexceptionable  diagnosis  of  organized  bodies 
consists  not  so  much  in  the  possession  of  distinct  organs,  as 
in  the  presence  of  vital  tissue ; that  is  to  say,  cells  filled  with 
fluid,  at  all  events  in  their  younger  stages,  and  possessing, 
every  one  of  them,  full  powers  of  assimilation  and  repro- 
duction ; so  that  although  no  more  than  a single  cell  may 
be  developed,  it  is  still,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  an  or- 
ganized body.  This  latter  condition  is  what  we  witness  in 
the  red-snow  plant.  The  body  of  man  is  a vast  mountain 
of  cells  of  precisely  the  same  intrinsic  character  as  those  of 
the  Protococcus,  only  built  into  special  members,  and  endued 
with  a more  powerful  vitality.  Whether  members  be  de- 
veloped or  not,  ‘Wital  tissue”  is  the  basis  of  the  entire 
organic  world,  as  markedly  as  it  is  absent  from  the  mineral, 
and  forms  the  sedes  ipsissimce  of  the  whole  of  the  vital  pro- 
cesses. That  they  are  destitute  of  vital  tissue  is  the  reason, 
accordingly,  why  minerals  perform  no  functions.  Wanting 
its  sensibility  and  expansiveness,  the  stone,  the  metal,  the 
crystal,  once  formed,  lie  forever  afterwards  in  perfect  still- 
ness, until  assailed,  that  is,  by  new  chemical  agencies  from 
without,  tending  to  decompose  them.  No  alterations  take 
place  within  their  substance ; they  neither  feed,  nor  breathe, 
nor  procreate ; their  once  fictive  life  has  subsided  into  simple, 
stationary  existence.  With  the  organized  body  it  is  exactly 
the  reverse.  During  the  whole  period  of  its  tenure  of  life, 
it  presents,  more  or  less  evidently,  the  phenomena  of  growth, 
and  of  change  of  form  and  substance,  many  of  the  most 
important  changes  recurring  in  definite  cycles  of  succession. 
Things,  in  a word,  which  are  recipient  only  of  the  inorganic 


46 


ANIMAL  AND  VEGETATIVE  FUNCTIONS. 


degree  of  life,  are  marked  by  but  one  plienomenon — that  of 
the  accretion  of  tlieir  particles  into  the  mass ; those  which 
receive  the  organic  degree,  present  an  assemblage  of  phe- 
nomena, and  these  are  both  simultaneous  and  continuous. 
The  active  life  of  the  mineral  ceases  as  soon  as  the  mineral 
is  formed ; that  of  the  organized  body  goes  on  unabated ly, 
and  is  even  more  vigorous  after  the  completion  of  the  form 
proper  to  it,  than  before.  The  diamond  ceases  from  active 
life  as  soon  as  it  becomes  a diamond ; whereas  the  corre- 
sponding period  in  the  history  of  an  animal  is  precisely  that 
of  its  highest  energy  commencing. 

20.  Animals  contrasted  with  plants  show  distinctions 
equally  sharp,  though  in  many  points  these  two  great  classes 
of  beings  are  most  intimately  allied.  In  the  former,  the 
organs,  and  therefore  the  functions  are  more  numerous  and 
varied,  and  all  those  now  appearing  for  the  first  time,  have 
peculiarly  noble  offices.  Such  are  the  eye  and  the  ear,  with 
their  respective  powers  of  sight  and  hearing.  The  latter 
kind  are  distinguished  by  physiologists  as  the  “ Animal” 
functions;  those  which  are  common  to  both  classes  of 
beings,  are  called  the  “Vegetative.”*  In  man,  for  example, 
the  Vegetative  functions  are  feeding,  digestion,  respiration, 
&c.,  (all  of  which  he  has  in  common  with  the  plant),  their 
central  organ  being  the  heart,  or  rather  the  heart  and  lungs 
cooperatively ; while  the  animal  functions  are  those  which 
depend  upon  the  brain.  In  animals,  the  organs  of  the 
Vegetative  functions  are  generally  single,  as  the  heart,  the 
stomach,  and  the  liver;  those,  on  the  other  hand,  of  the 


* Some  authors  call  the  Vegetative  functions  the  ^^OrganieJ^  The 
former  is  by  far  the  better  name,  being  definite  and  strict  in  its 
apjilication,  whereas  Organic’^  properly  denotes  both  classes  of 
functions.  The  latter  is  the  sense  invariably  intended  in  the  present 
volume. 


ANIMAL  AND  VEGETATIVE  FUNCTIONS. 


47 


Animal  functions,  are  for  the  most  part  arranged  in  pairs ; 
that  is,  they  are  double  and  correspondent,  as  in  tne  two 
eyes  and  two  ears ; or  they  have  two  symmetrical  halves, 
parallel  with  the  mesian  line  of  the  body,  as  in  the  nose,  the 
spinal  marrow,  and  the  tongue.  The  functions  of  the  Vege- 
tative organs  continue  uninterruptedly;  the  blood,  for  in- 
stance, is  in  continual  circulation;  those  of  the  Animal 
organs  are  subject  to  interruptions.  Still  it  is  everywhere 
the  same  life,  essentially,  which  is  played  forth.  The  higher 
and  lower  presentations  come  wholly  of  the  peculiar  offices, 
and  thence  of  the  capability  of  the  recipient  organism  to 
disclose  it.  The  lowest  degree  of  expression  is  in  the  sim- 
plest forms  of  vegetables,  such  as  the  microscopic  fungi, 
known  as  moulds  and  mildew ; the  highest  is  in  the  material 
body  of  man.  Between  these  are  innumerable  intermediate 
degrees,  all  referable,  however,  either  to  vegetable,  or  to 
animal  life.  In  the  Vegetable,  by  reason  of  its  less  noble 
destiny,  the  operation  of  life  is  seen  merely  in  the  produc- 
tion of  a determinate  frame-work  of  roots,  stems,  leaves, 
and  flowers,  and  the  maintenance  of  these  in  a state  of  self- 
nutritive and  reproductive  activity.  In  the  Animal,  it  pro- 
duces analogues  of  all  the  organs  that  the  vegetable  pos- 
sesses, after  a more  elaborate  mode,  and  superadds  to  them. 
Nervous  matter.  This  gives  sensation,  and  the  power  of 
voluntary  motion,  and  introduces  the  creature  into  social 
communication  with  the  objects  around  it,  such  as  to  the 
vegetable  is  utterly  unknown.  We  shall  see,  further  on, 
how  such  widely  parted  extremes  are  yet  consistent  with 
singleness  of  idea ; also,  in  considering  Discrete  degrees  and 
the  Chain  of  Nature,  how  along  with  the  most  beautiful 
serial  progression  and  development,  there  is  absolute  separa- 
tion and  distinctiveness,  both  as  regards  species,  and  the 
great  aggregates  we  call  the  Kingdoms  of  nature. 

21.  To  the  support  of  Organic  life  are  needed  Food,  Air, 


48  FOOD,  AIR,  AND  THE  VITAL  STIMULI. 

and  the  great  dynamic  substance  or  substances  known  as 
Heat,  Light,  and  Electricity.*  The  latter  are  what  authors 
call  the  “vital  stimuli,’’  their  operation,  either  singly  or 
combined,  having  long  been  recognized  as  the  first  essential 
to  the  manifestation  of  vital  phenomena.  Properly  speak- 
ing, the  whole  suite  should  be  included  under  the  name  of 
Food,  seeing  that  they  equally  contribute  to  the  stability  of 
the  organism.  They  are  not  merely  stimuliy  or  excitants  of 
vital  action  ; definite  quantities  of  them  must  be  introduced 
into  the  organism,  of  which  they  are  the  imponderable  ali- 
ment, as  food  commonly  so  called,  is  the  ponderable.  This 
is  strikingly  exemplified  in  the  history  of  the  Cerealia,  or 
Corn-plants,  to  which  a long  summer  or  a short  one  makes 
no  difference,  provided  they  receive  the  same  aggregate 
amount  of  heat  and  light.  Every  one  knows  that  if  the 
supply  of  natural,  wholesome  aliment  be  reduced  below  a 
certain  level,  there  is  alike  in  plants  and  animals  emaciation 
and  loss  of  vigor ; and  that  if  totally  deprived  of  food,  they 
speedily  starve  to  death.  Debarred  from  regular  supplies 
of  Air,  Light,  Electricity,  &c.,  though  the  supply  of  food 
may  be  adequate,  plants  no  less  than  animals,  suffer  as 
severely  as  in  the  former  case.  Respiration,  the  circulation 
of  the  blood,  the  flow  of  the  sap,  digestion,  assimilation,  all 
stand  in  need  of  their  united  and  complementary  service. 
Equally  and  as  absolutely  essential  is  it  to  the  very  genesis 
of  the  organism,  whether  we  take  the  child  in  the  womb  of 
its  mother,  or  its  counterpart,  the  embryo  seed  in  the  pistil 
of  the  flower,  excepting,  in  the  former  case,  the  immediate 
presence  and  operation  of  atmospheric  air.  We  shall  first 


* To  this  list  will  perhaps  have  to  be  added  odyhy  the  extraordi- 
nary agent  to  which  attention  is  invited  by  Reichenbach.  See  his 
Kescarches  on  Magnetism,  Electricity,  &c.,  translated  by  Dr. 
Gregory,  1850. 


INFLUENCE  OF  LIGHT  UPON  PLANTS.  49 

consider  the  “Vital  Stimuli  f secondly,  Food ; and  thirdly, 
the  Atmosphere,  in  relation  to  life.  This  will  prepare  us  to 
understand  the  proximate  causes  and  nature  of  Death ; 
which  will  lead  in  turn  to  the  consideration  of  the  great 
compensating  laws  of  Renewal,  and  to  the  curious  mysteries 
of  the  diversity  in  the  leases  or  specific  terms  of  life. 

22.  The  most  striking  illustrations  of  the  importance  of 
Light  to  the  play  of  life  are  furnished  by  the  Vegetable 
kingdom.  Secluded  from  the  solar  light,  plants,  if  they  do 
not  soon  die,  become  wan,  feeble,  and  sickly.  What  few 
leaves  and  shoots  may  be  painfully  put  forth,  are  pale-yellow 
instead  of  green;  and  the  ordinarily  firm  and  solid  stem  be- 
comes watery  and  semi-translucent.  If  there  be  an  effort 
made  to  produce  flowers  and  seeds,  that  is,  to  become  parents, 
after  self-preservation,  the  foremost,  though  it  may  be  un- 
conscious, desire  of  all  living  things,  it  is  but  to  fail  miserably. 
The  qualities  of  a plant  are  no  less  weakened  by  want  of  light 
than  its  constitution  is.  The  acrid  become  bland,  the  dele- 
terious innocuous.  In  gardens  and  orchards,  flowers  and 
fruits  accidentally  shaded  by  dense  foliage,  fail  to  acquire 
their  proper  tint;  while  of  the  full  sunlight  come  all  the  glow 
and  brilliance  of  the  blossom,  the  purple  hue  of  the  peach, 
the  rosy  one  of  the  apple.  Who  has  not  observed  the  long- 
ing and  beautiful  affection  with  which  plants  kept  in  par- 
lors turn  themselves  towards  the  window;  and  how  the 
large,  broad  leaves  of  the  geranium  will  even  press  their 
bosoms  to  the  glass  ? The  sunflower,  the  heliotrope,*  the 


* The  delicious,  vanilla-scented,  lilac  flower,  which  now  bears  the 
name  of  Heliotrope  is  in  no  way  specially  deserving  of  it.  Neither 
is  the  great  golden  Sunflower  of  our  autumn  gardens,  which  is  so 
called,  not,  as  often  thought,  because  of  remarkable  sensitiveness  to 
solar  attraction,  but  because  of  its  vast  circular  disk  and  yellow 
rays. 


5 


C 


50 


INFLUENCE  OF  LIGHT  UPON  PLANTS. 


turnsole,  the  salsafy,  are  celebrated  for  keeping  their  faces 
always  fixed  on  glorious  Apollo.”  It  would  be  much  more 
difiicult  to  find  a plant  which  does  not  turn  towards  the  sun, 
though  its  movement  might  be  slower  than  is  fabled.  While 
these  confess  the  sweetness  and  the  potency  of  the  solar  pre- 
sence, that  sullen  troglodyte,  the  Lathroea  squamaria,  or  tooth- 
wort,  of  our  woods,  where  the  botanist  obtains  it  only  by 
excavating  among  earth  and  dead  leaves,  shows  in  its  ske- 
leton-like configuration  and  cadaverous  hue,  that  life  in  the 
dark  is  but  a compromise  with  death.  When  the  trees  and 
shrubs,  beneath  the  shade  of  which  it  usually  secretes  itself, 
are  cut  away,  so  as  to  expose  the  plant  to  the  full  action  of 
the  light,  like  a morose  and  unsocial  man  made  to  laugh 
against  his  will,  it  enlivens  into  a beautiful  pink  purple. 
Superabundance  of  light,  on  the  other  hand,  elicits  the  most 
beautiful  displays,  both  as  to  perfection  of  form,  and  height 
of  color.  Tschudi,  in  his  picturesque  Sketches  of  Nature 
in  the  Alps,”  tells  us  that  the  flowers  there  have  a wonder- 
fully vivid  coloring.  The  most  brilliant  blues  and  reds, 
with  a rich  brown,  shading  to  black,  are  observable  amidst 
the  white  and  yellow  flowers  of  the  lower  districts,  both 
kinds  assuming  in  the  higher  regions  a yet  more  pure  and 
dazzling  hue.”  A similar  richness  of  coloring  is  reported 
of  the  vegetation  of  Polar  countries,  where  the  hues  not  only 
become  more  fiery,  but  undergo  a complete  alteration  under 
the  influence  of  the  constant  summer  light  and  the  rays  of 
the  midnight  sun,  white  and  violet  being  often  deepened  into 
glowing  purple.  This  happens  not  alone  with  the  flowers. 
Within  the  arctic  circle,  the  lichens  and  mosses  shine  in  hues 
of  gold  and  purple  quite  unknown  to  them  in  lower  latitudes. 
The  balsamic  fragrance  of  the  Alpine  plants,  likewise  caused 
by  the  brilliant  light,  is,  according  to  Tschudi,  no  less  remark- 
able and  characteristic.  From  the  auricula  down  to  the  violet- 


INFLUENCE  OF  LIGHT  UPON  ANIMALS. 


51 


scented  moss  (Byssus  eolithes),  this  strong  aromatic  property 
is  widely  prevalent,  and  far  more  so  in  the  high  Alps  than 
in  the  lowlands.  The  strict  physiological  reason  of  the  ill 
development  of  plants  when  deprived  of  the  proper  amount 
of  light,  at  least  of  all  green  plants,  is  that  plant-life,  as  re- 
gards personal  nutrition,  is  spent  in  the  decomposition  of 
carbonic  acid,  water,  and  ammonia,  from  the  proceeds  of 
which  are  manufactured  the  tissues  and  their  contents ; such 
decomposition  bearing  a constant  ratio,  cceteris  jparihus,  to 
the  amount  of  light  enjoyed.  To  certain  kinds  of  sea-weeds, 
it  is  proper  to  remark,  light  seems,  by  a curious  exception, 
to  be  unfriendly  and  distasteful.  This  is  the  case  with  many 
of  the  Ehodospermese,  as  Delesseria  sanguinea,  D.  ruscifolia, 
and  Khodomenia  laciniata,  which  instead  of  growing  in  the 
open  parts  of  the  sea-coast,  select  obscure  hollows,  shadowed 
by  overhanging  clilFs,  and  in  such  dark  spots  alone  attain 
their  highest  beauty.  Some  of  this  tribe  will  not  grow  at 
all  in  shallow  water,  or  where  there  is  a full  stream  of  solar 
light ; and  such  as  can  bear  to  be  so  placed,  usually  show 
the  incongeniality  of  their  location  by  degeneracy  of  form 
and  loss  of  brilliancy  of  tint.  Delesseria  sanguinea,  made 
mock  of  in  a glass  vase,  speedily  loses  its  lovely  crimson, 
and  becomes  a mere  white  membrane.  Fondness  of  seclu- 
sion from  the  full  sunlight  is  remarkable  also  in  many  ferns. 
Under  the  shade  of  trees,  or  upon  sheltered  hedgebanks, 
they  alone  reach  their  maximum  of  luxuriance. 

23.  The  value  and  importance  of  light  to  Animal  life, 
though  the  immediate  connection  is  not  so  obvious,  all  expe- 
rience shows  it  impossible  to  over-estimate.  There  is  some- 
thing more  than  a metaphor  in  speaking  of  the  light  of 
life.’’  Light,  in  poetic  language,  is  life.  When  Iphigenia 
in  Euripides  is  reconciling  herself  to  the  death  so  happily 
averted,  she  exclaims,  [loc,  (pcXov  (pdo(;^  ‘‘  Farewell, 


52 


IMPORTANCE  OF  LIGHT  TO  HUMAN  HEALTH. 


beloved  Light!”*  Digestion,  assimilation,  circulation,  the 
functions  also  of  the  brain  and  of  the  nerves,  proceed  in  a 
more  orderly  and  agreeable  manner  when  we  exclude  our- 
selves as  little  as  possible  from  the  light  of  heaven.  No 
dwellings  are  so  pleasant,  because  so  healthful,  as  those 
which  have  a southerly  aspect : people  who  live  in  houses 
looking  chiefly  to  the  North  and  East,  sufler  seriously,  if  not 
sensibly,  from  the  imperfect  sunning  of  the  air ; the  unkind- 
liness of  the  aspect  imparts  itself  to  the  occupants ; that  the 
heart  should  look  southwards,  our  windows  should  do  so. 
No  one  can  say  how  much  sickness  and  debility,  how  much 
ill-temper  and  moroseness  are  not  owing  to  self-imprisonment 
in  dark  streets,  and  dull  counting-houses,  and  back  parlors, 
into  which  a sunbeam  never  enters : ‘‘  Truly  the  light  is 
sweet,  and  a pleasant  thing  it  is  for  the  eyes  to  behold  the 
sun.”  School-rooms,  most  of  all,  should  be  on  the  sunny 
side  of  the  house ; no  sensible  school-master  ever  places  them 
anywhere  else.  The  curious  exception  to  love  of  light  which 
occurs  in  the  pink  sea-weeds,  again  occurs  in  marine  Animal 
life.  Almost  all  the  animals  which  inhabit  the  sea-side  are 
more  numerous  under  the  shelter  of  rocks  than  where  the 
coast  is  open.  Compared  with  such  localities,  shadowless 
sands  and  beaches  are  untenanted.  The  colours  also  of 
marine  animals,  like  those  of  the  algae,  are  often  brighter 
wEen  they  dwell  in  comparative  shade,  as  well  exemplified 
in  the  prawn.  It  is  only  in  the  gloom  of  deep  holes  and 
rocky  pools  that  the  fine  zebra-like  hues  of  this  pretty  crea- 
ture become  fully  developed.  Fishes,  especially  those  of 
the  sea,  are  well  known  to  be  fonder  of  night  than  of  day, 
probably  because  of  darkness  being  more  congenial ; and 


* Tpliigenia  in  Aiilis,  1519.  See  in  reference  to  the  passage.  The 
Ilieroglypliica  of  Picriiis  Valerianus,  p.  490,  de  Lucerna;  and  vari- 
ous citations  from  the  Latin  poets  in  Alciati’s  Embleniata,  p.  720. 


AGENCY  OF  HEAT. 


53 


the  same  is  probably  the  reason  of  many  animals  being  most 
active  in  the  winter.  Here  again  we  have  a parallel  with 
the  vegetable  world ; it  is  when  the  days  are  darkest  and 
shortest  that  the  Christmas-rose  expands  its  flowers.  Sun- 
shine has  a wonderful  influence  even  upon  external  form,  as 
we  might  anticipate  indeed  from  the  improvement  it  causes 
in  plants.  Humboldt  ascribes  the  frequency  of  deformity 
among  certain  nations  which  clothe  but  scantily,  more  to  the 
free  action  of  light  upon  their  bodies,  than  to  any  peculia- 
rities in  mode  of  life.  Those  exquisite  shapes  which  Art 
has  immortalized  in  marble,  doubtless  owed  not  a little  to 
the  full  and  free  exposure  of  the  body  to  the  light  and  air, 
so  agreeable  in  the  fine  climate  of  ancient  Greece. 

24.  We  may  but  read  of  what  Light  does  for  life,  but  we 
feel  what  is  the  agency  of  Heat.  Reduce  the  supply  of 
heat,  and  development  is  checked.  Remove  it  wholly,  and 
the  organism,  whether  animal  or  vegetable,  (except  in  some 
few  very  low  forms,)  is  frozen  to  death.  Hence  the  instinct- 
ive avoidance  of  the  impending  evil  by  the  tender,  migratory 
birds  and  animals;  and  the  behaviour  and  condition  during 
winter  of  the  hybernating  species.  It  is  principally  through 
lack  of  heat  that  the  frigid  zones  are  nearly  bare  of  vegeta- 
tion ; and  that  through  the  increase  of  temperature,  as  the 
equator  is  approached,  the  eye  is  delighted  at  every  step,  by 
a richer  luxuriance.  “To  the  natives  of  the  north,”  says 
Humboldt,  “many  vegetable  forms,  including  more  espe- 
cially the  most  beautiful  productions  of  the  earth,  (palms, 
tree-ferns,  bananas,  arborescent  grasses,  and  delicately- 
branched  mimosas,)  remain  for  ever  unknown;  for  the  puny 
plants  pent  up  in  our  hot-houses,  give  but  a faint  idea  of 
the  majestic  vegetation  of  the  tropics.”  The  operation  of 
heat  in  the  earliest  periods  of  organic  existence,  is  alone 
sufficient  to  indicate  how  important  this  agent  is  to  life.  In 
the  incubation  of  birds,  the  warmth  communicated  by  the 
5 * 


54 


AGENCY  OF  ELECTRICITY. 


parent  to  the  egg,  during  her  long  and  patient  fidelity  to  her 
nest,  elicits  that  response  on  the  part  of  the  germ,  which 
leads  on  to  the  hatching  of  the  chick.  The  seeds  of  plants 
stand  in  similar  need  of  the  solar  warmth  in  order  to  germi- 
nate, and  acknowledge  it  as  promptly.  So,  indeed,  with  the 
gestation  of  viviparous  animals,  as  woman.  The  embryo, 
embedded  in  the  womb,  amplifies  into  a fully-formed  child, 
not  more  through  the  contributions  made  to  its  substance  by 
the  nutrient  apparatus  provided  for  the  purpose,  than 
through  the  agency  of  the  genial  warmth  which  flows  into 
it  from  all  sides,  and  without  which  neither  limbs  nor  organs 
could  be  moulded. 

25.  What  may  be  the  precise  way  in  which  Electricity 
assists  in  maintaining  life,  is  as  yet  a profound  secret.  From 
what  has  been  observed,  however,  there  cannot  be  a doubt 
that  it  performs  a part  fully  as  energetic  as  either  light  or 
heat,  and  this  whether  we  take  animals  or  plants.  As  re- 
gards the  former,  its  peculiar  relation  appears  to  lie  with 
“nerve-force.”  Nerve-force  is  excitable  by  electricity,  and 
electricity  may  be  produced  by  the  exercise  of  nerve-force, 
as  exemplified  in  those  remarkable  creatures,  the  Torpedo 
and  the  Gymnotus.  Our  personal  sensations,  which  are  an 
unfailing  index  to  the  truth  in  such  inquiries,  tell  us  how 
exhilarating  is  an  atmosphere  well  charged  with  this  magical 
element,  and  how  life  languishes  when  it  is  deficient  or  ren- 
dered inoperative.  Plants  receive  a corresponding  benefit. 
The  evolution  of  new  tissue  is  greatly  accelerated  by  a plen- 
tiful supply  of  the  electric  fluid,  manifesting  itself  in  rapid 
and  lively  growth.  For  particulars  respecting  its  agency, 
also  concerning  the  relation  of  heat,  light,  and  electricity, 
generally,  to  Organic  life,  we  must  refer  the  reader  to  trea- 
tises the  scope  of  which  allows  more  room  than  can  be 
afibrded  here;  giving  what  space  remains  to  a notice  of  the 
grand  discovery,  so  ably  set  forth  by  Mr.  Grove,  that  in- 


DOCTRINE  OF  THE  ^^CORRELATION  OF  FORCES.”  55 

stead  of  being  three  things,  Light,  Heat,  and  Electricity  are 
only  one,  variously  set  forth,  and  mutually  convertible,  the 
doctrine  in  short  of  the  “ Correlation  of  the  Physical  F orces.” 
It  is  important  briefly  to  consider  this  doctrine,  seeing  that 
it  provides,  in  the  estimation  of  some  of  the  most  eminent 
physiologists  of  our  day,  a solution  of  the  great  problem  of 
organic  life.  “That  Light  and  Heat,”  says  Carpenter,  “be- 
come transformed  into  Vital  Force,  is  shown  by  the  same 
kind  of  evidence  that  we  possess  of  the  conversion  of  Heat 
into  Electricity  by  acting  on  a certain  combination  of 
metals ; of  Electricity  into  Magnetism  by  being  passed  round 
a bar  of  iron ; and  of  Heat  and  Electricity  into  motion  when 
the  self-repulsive  action  separates  the  particles  from  each 
other.  For  just  as  Heat,  Light,  Chemical  affinity,  &c.,  are 
transformed  into  vital  force,  so  is  vital  force  capable  of 
manifesting  itself  in  the  production  of  Light,  Heat,  Elec- 
tricity, Chemical  affinity,  or  mechanical  motion;  thus  com- 
pleting the  proof  of  that  mutual  relationship  or  ‘ correlation’ 
which  has  been  shown  to  exist  among  the  physical  and 
chemical  forces  themselves.”*  That  without  heat  and  elec- 
tricity, life  cannot  for  one  instant  be  sustained,  is  indispu- 
table; and  that  without  them,  the  changes  and  phenomena 
which  disclose  its  presence  can  never  occur.  Equally  true 
is  it  that  (as  specially  observable  in  the  Cerealia  above- 
mentioned)  there  is  a definite  relation  between  the  degree  of 
vital  activity  and  the  amount  of  heat,  light,  &c.  supplied  to 
the  organism.  Curious  and  truly  wonderful  too  is  the  con- 
cord between  these  “ forces”  and  the  vital  energy,  as  regards 
their  restorative  powers;  the  warmth  of  the  hand  restores 
tlie  perishing  fly,  and  the  voltaic  current  reanimates  the 
half-drowned  man.  To  say,  however,  that  they  are  trans- 


Principles  of  Human  Physiology,^’ p.  123.  1853.  See  also  the 
“Projet  d’un  Essai  sur  la  Vitalite,”  of  Andral,  p.  35.  Paris,  1835. 


56 


J.  J.  G.  WILKINSON  ON  CORRELATION. 


formahle  into  a spiritual  essence — for  if  life  be  derived  from 
God,  vital  force  can  be  nothing  else — seems  to  savor  strongly 
of  such  a perfect  contentedness  witli  the  material  as  surely 
does  not  consist  with  a pure  and  devout  philosophy.  The 
dependence  of  life,  proximately,  upon  physical  causes,  is  not 
questioned;  life  is  no  miracle,  in  the  special  sense;  and  it  is 
our  plain  and  bounden  duty,  as  investigators  of  nature,  to 
attempt  to  give  to  this  dependence  a clear  and  definite  ex- 
pression. But  we  are  not  to  talk  of  ‘Wital  force’'  as  if  it 
were  a thing  of  merely  terrestrial  origin,  heat  and  electricity 
sublimed  and  transmuted.  According  to  this  doctrine  of 
correlation”*  (i.  e,,  of  the  physical  forces  with  vital  force,) 
observes  an  author  of  no  common  sagacity,  ‘‘according  to 
this  doctrine,  heat  has  only  to  pass  through  a cell-germ  to 
be  converted  into  vitality.  This  doctrine  ends,  therefore,  in 
fire-worshipping;  for  it  makes  the  light  and  heat  of  the  ma- 
terial sun,  the  fountains  of  the  force  of  organization;  and 
deems  that  these  pass  through  vegetables,  and  become  vege- 
table life;  through  animals,  and  become  animal  life;  through 
brains,  and  become  mind,  and  so  forth.  Therefore,  a fine 
day,  poured  into  its  vessel,  man,  becomes  transmogrified 
into  virtues;  dark  nights  are  converted  into  felonies;  dull 
November  days  into  suicides;  and  hot  suns  into  love.  This 
is  materialism  with  spiritualism  in  its  pocket.  There  is  no 
convertibility  of  forces  between  life  and  nature;  there  are 
no  cells  by  which  heat  can  be  filtered  into  vitality.”f 


* On  the  general  subject  of  the  Correlation  of  Forces  see  Mr. 
Grove’s  admirable  work  bearing  that  title,  and  an  excellent  article 
on  the  “Pbasis  of  Force”  in  the  National  Review  for  April,  1857. 

f “The  Unman  Body,  and  its  connection  with  Man,”  by  J.  J, 
Garth  Wilkinson,  p.  389.  1851. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


FOOD. 

26.  Wherever  provided  with  instruments  of  action,  life 
requires  for  its  maintenance  unbroken  supplies  of  food.  No 
organized  being  can  dispense  with  food  altogether,  though 
some,  from  peculiarity  of  constitution — as  reptiles,  the  car- 
nivorous mammalia,  certain  hybernating  creatures,  and 
trees — can  fast  for  surprisingly  long  periods.  Plants  feed 
in  order  that  they  may  enlarge  their  fabric,  and  renew,  pe- 
riodically, their  foliage  and  blossoms ; animals  feed  because 
the  exercise  of  their  various  organs  is  attended  by  decompo- 
sition of  their  very  substance,  which  consequently  needs  to 
be  repaired  to  the  same  extent.  While  the  lungs,  the  heart, 
the  liver,  the  muscles,  the  nerves,  perform  faithfully  the  se- 
veral duties  assigned  to  or  demanded  of  them,  it  is  at  the 
expense  of  the  material  they  are  composed  of ; and  were  the 
loss  not  speedily  compensated,  life  would  soon  be  necessi- 
tated to  depart,  as  it  actually  does  in  cases  of  starvation. 
For  life,  in  animals,  is  not  merely  living — it  consists  not 
alone  in  the  activity  and  vigorous  exercise  of  the  bodily  or- 
gans. In  order  to  its  energetic  playing  forth,  there  is 
needed  a nice  balance  and  alternation  of  death  and  renewal 
in  every  tissue  concerned  in  the  vital  processes ; and  only 
where  exchange  of  new  for  old  is  regularly  and  actively  go- 
w ing  on,  can  life  be  truly  said  to  reign.  We  cannot  live,  in 
a word,  as  to  our  total  organism,  unless  we  are  always  dy- 
ing as  to  our  atoms ; nor  is  there  an  instant  in  which  death 

c 57 


58  MOLECULAR  DEATH  AND  RENEWAL  OF  THE  BODY. 


is  not  somewhere  taking  place.  Every  effort  and  every 
movement  kills  some  portion  of  the  muscles  employed ; 
every  thought,  even,  involves  the  death  of  some  particle  of 
the  brain.  As  fast  as  devitalized,  the  atoms  are  cast  out — 
some  through  the  lungs,  others  through  the  skin,  &c. ; every 
pore  and  passage  of  the  body  supplying  means  of  exit.  So 
general  and  incessant  is  the  decomposition,  and  along  with 
it  the  rebuilding,  that  a few  weeks  probably  suffice  for  the 
dissolving  and  reconstruction  of  the  entire  structure;  cer- 
tainly it  does  not  occupy  many  years.  In  the  course  of  a 
life-time,  “ every  individual  wears  out  many  suits  of  bodies, 
as  he  does  many  suits  of  clothes ; the  successive  structures 
which  we  occupy  bear  the  same  name,  and  exhibit  the  same 
external  aspect;  but  our  frames  of  to-day  are  no  more  iden- 
tical with  the  frames  of  our  early  youth  than  with  those  of 
our  progenitors.’’  In  this  wonderful  flux  and  replacement 
of  the  atoms  of  the  body,  quite  as  much  consists  its  admira- 
ble adaptation  to  the  purposes  of  life  as  in  its  exquisite  me- 
chanism and  variety  of  organs.  It  is  so  perfect  an  instru- 
ment of  life,  because  composed  of  millions  of  delicate  pieces, 
so  slenderly  cohering  that  any  one  of  them  can  be  discarded 
and  replaced  without  difficulty.  Hence,  in  the  aged  and 
the  diseased,  in  whom  the  tissues  are  hardened  and  conso- 
lidated, in  whom  the  renewal  is  slow,  difficult,  and  irregular, 
we  see  life  proportionately  feeble ; where,  upon  the  other 
hand,  they  are  soft  and  delicate,  and  renewal  rapid,  it  is  in 
the  same  ratio  strong  and  beautiful.  Historically  viewed, 
the  periodical  renewal,  of  the  human  body  at  least,  is  one 
of  the  most  venerable  ideas  in  physiology.  Long  before 
Cuvier’s  fine  comparison  of  the  human  fabric  to  a whirl- 
pool, and  Leibnitz’s  simile  of  a river,  it  had  been  likened  to 
the  famous  ship  of  Theseus,  which  was  always  the  same  ship, 
though  from  being  so  often  repaired,  not  a single  piece  of 
the  original  was  left.  Plato  adverts  to  it  both  in  the  Ban- 


PROXIMATE  OBJECT  OF  FOOD. 


59 


quet  and  in  the  Timseus.  Mark,  for  future  use,  the  grand 
and  inevitable  sequence  that  the  essentiality  of  the  body  is 
certainly  not  to  be  looked  for  in  the  matter  of  which  it  is 
built,  but  must  needs  consist  in  a noble,  imponderable,  in- 
visible something,  which  the  changing  physical  frame  sim- 
ply encloses  and  overlies.  Mark,  too,  and  alike  for  future 
use,  the  fine  analogy  between  the  death  and  renewal  of  the 
constituent  elements  of  the  individual  liuman  being,  and 
the  death  and  renewal  of  the  atoms  of  the  human  race. 

27.  The  use  of  food,  accordingly,  is  to  meet  this  incessant 
waste.  A corresponding  and  continuous  importation  of  new 
material  from  without,  available  for  the  restoration  of  the 
several  organs,  becomes,  in  consequence  of  the  waste,  rigor- 
orously  indispensable.  That  such  new  material  may  be  pro- 
cured, the  loss  of  the  old  is  signalled  in  the  vehement  longing 
we  call  hunger : this  leads  to  consumption  of  it  in  a crude  form ; 
digestion  and  assimilation  then  come  into  play,  promptly 
turning  what  is  consumed  into  blood,  or  liquid,  circulating 
flesh,  and  by  the  fixation  of  this  wherever  wear  and  tear 
have  been  undergone,  the  process  of  reparation  is  completed. 
Incessantly  coursing  through  the  body,  the  blood,  as  it  ar- 
rives at  the  various  parts,  gives  itself  up  to  the  genius  loei : 
where  muscle  is  out  of  repair,  muscle  is  renewed  from  it ; 
where  bone  is  wanted,  bone  is  renewed;  cartilage,  brain, 
nerves,  alike  suck  from  this  noble  fluid  their  restoration,  as 
originally,  from  the  same  beautiful  and  overflowing  cornu- 
copia, their  birth  and  substance.  The  proximate  object  of 
food  is  thus  to  nourish  the  blood.*  It  is  because  the  blood 
hungers  and  thirsts,  that  we  feel  impelled  to  eat  and  drink ; 


* That  the  formation  of  blood  is  the  use  of  food,  appears  to  have 
been  a very  early  conclusion.  ^^The  gods,’’  says  Homer,  “neither 
eat  food  nor  drink  the  purple  wine,  wherefore  they  are  bloodless.’’ — 
Iliad,  V.  341  # 


60 


TWOFOLD  USE  OF  FOOD. 


the  hunger  of  the  stomach  is  only  the  voice  with  which  it 
clamors.  Itself  the  most  wonderful  substance  in  nature — 
for  the  sake  of  the  blood,  everything  else  in  nature  subsists. 
Light,  heat,  and  electricity,  animals,  plants,  and  minerals, 
all  in  some  way  subsidize  and  minister  to  it.  Man  is  man 
only  by  virtue  of  his  blood,  and  nature  is  chieliy  admirable  as 
supplying  its  ingredients.  Wherever  in  the  human  body 
there  is  most  blood,  there  is  greatest  vital  energy,  and  vice 
versa;  and  in  exact  proportion  to  the  decline  from  the 
standard  quantity  and  quality  required  in  it,  is  the  depar- 
ture from  the  body  of  health  and  vigor. 

28.  Besides  integrity  of  substance,  a certain  degree  of 
temperature  must  be  kept  up  in  the  body,  otherwise  the 
muscles  would  lose  their  power  of  contracting,  and  the 
nerves  their  power  of  conveying  impressions  to  and  from 
the  brain.  This  is  partly  provided  for  by  the  ingress  of 
heat  from  without,  as  noticed  in  the  preceding  chapter; 
partly  by  arrangements  for  the  evolution  of  heat  chemically, 
within, — such  arrangements,  like  those  for  rebuilding,  being 
immediately  dependent  upon  supplies  of  proper  food.  Hence 
in  the  raw  material  of  nutrition,  along  with  the  substance 
suitable  for  masonry,  must  be  included  substance  that  shall 
be  serviceable  as  fuel ; and  organic  chemistry  seems  to  prove 
that  it  is  precisely  such  material  which  we  instinctively  select 
for  our  diet.  Human  food,  according  to  the  researches  of 
Liebig,  is  always  either  nitrogenous  or  carbonaceous,  or 
both, — the  first  element  serving  to  furnish  fiesh,  the  second 
the  means  of  warmth ; and  it  would  further  appear  that  it  is 
for  the  sake  of  procuring  these  two  in  sufficient  quantity  and 
proportion,  that  we  almost  invariably  compound  our  food, 
mixing  vegetables  with  meat,  butter  with  bread.  What 
seems  to  be  luxury,  is  simple  instinct,  acting  through  the 
palate.  During  the  period  of  growth,  or  in  childhood  and 
adolescence,  an  important  additional  source  of  demand  for 


COMPOSITION  OF  FOOD. 


61 


food  is  the  increase  which  the  various  tissues  are  then  under- 
going. The  sphere  of  the  activity  of  the  constructive  powers 
exceeds  the  actual  dimensions  of  the  body,  which  extends 
itself,  under  their  impulse,  in  every  direction;  and  induces, 
while  thus  enlarging,  a corresponding  voraciousness.  The 
demand  for  food  during  this  period  is  sill  further  promoted 
by  the  circumstance  of  the  tissues  having  not  acquired  the 
degree  of  consolidation  which  they  hold  in  adults,  and  being 
therefore  more  readily  susceptible  of  decomposition.  Con- 
sidered as  a local  affection  of  the  body,  hunger  is  referable 
to  the  nerves  of  the  stomach.  No  affection  is  more  inti- 
mately connected  with  the  nervous  system,  or  more  power- 
fully influenced  by  nervous  states  and  emotions.  Sudden 
grief,  anger,  and  fright,  will  often  remove  it  instantaneously, 
and  even  change  it  into  loathing.  In  plants,  it  is  important 
to  observe,  there  is  no  decay  of  the  ultimate  or  elementary 
tissues,  such  as  occurs  in  animal  organisms,  and  which  it 
the  design  of  the  nutritive  processes  in  animals  to  compen- 
sate. Instead  of  this,  in  the  vegetable  all  is  growth,  till  the 
organ  which  the  growth  produces,  having  fulfilled  its  destiny, 
ceases  to  act,  and  dies  bodily.  In  plants,  therefore,  there  is 
no  such  thing,  strictly  speaking,  as  nutrition,  the  true  idea 
of  this  process  being,  as  above  described,  reparation  of 
molecular  waste. 

29.  The  form,  sources,  and  composition  of  the  food  of  the 
two  great  classes  of  organized  beings,  involve  varied  and 
most  interesting  considerations.  Here  it  is  unnecessary  to 
do  more  than  indicate  a few  leading  ideas  upon  the  several 
themes.  The  composition  of  food  must  necessarily  always  be 
the  same  as  that  of  the  organism  which  lives  upon  it, — that 
is,  the  crude  material  of  food  must  needs  contain  ingredients 
convertible  respectively  into  blood  and  sap,  and  thence  into 
flesh,  in  its  various  forms,  also  bones,  and  in  the  plant  what 
are  called  the  vegetable  tissues.  If  such  ingredients  be  not 
6 


62 


FORM  OF  FOOD. 


present,  the  material  cannot  be  called  food.  It  follows  that 
those  foods  will  be  the  most  serviceable  and  nutritious  which 
contain  in  a given  bulk  the  largest  proportion  of  parts  capa- 
ble of  being  easily  assimilated  into  the  body  of  the  eater. 
More  or  less  nutritious  as  it  may  be,  the  action  of  the  diges- 
tive organs  always  separates  from  our  food  precisely  the 
same  elements.  Eat  what  we  will,  the  composition  of  the 
body  does  not  alter, — explaining  the  celebrated  aphorism  of 
Hippocrates,  that  there  is  only  one  food,  though  there  exist 
many /orms  of  food.  With  all  the  higher  animals,  and  pro- 
bably throughout  the  entire  range  of  animal  life,  it  is  pre- 
cisely the  same. 

30.  Next  as  to  the  form  of  food.  The  more  complex  the 
structure  of  the  organism,  and  the  higher  its  powers,  the 
more  complex  must  be  the  aliment  on  which  it  lives,  and 
also  the  more  varied  in  its  shape.  Man  needs  a more  com- 
plex food  than  the  brute  races  do,  and  animals  in  general  a 
more  complex  one  than  serves  for  vegetables.  Animals, 
again,  need  both  solid  and  liquid  aliment,  while  vegetables 
take  the  whole  of  their  food  in  fluid  forms.  Although 
thirst  is  a violent  desire,  drink,  however,  appears  by  no 
means  indispensable  to  animal  life;  for  several  kinds  of 
creatures,  as  quails,  parrots,  and  mice,  do  not  drink  at  all; 
and  individuals  of  our  own  species  have  lived  in  perfect 
health  and  strength,  scarcely  ever  tasting  liquids.  The 
Sloth,  Waterton  tells  us,  ^Heeds  on  leaves,  and  scarcely  ever 
drinks.’’  The  doctrine,  originally  started  by  Mirbel,  that 
animals  live  upon  organic  matter  only,  and  vegetables  upon 
morganic,  and  which  is  often  thought  to  carry  with  it  a valid 
distinction  between  them,  is  defective;  plants,  though  they 
absorl)  the  greater  part  of  their  nutriment  from  the  atmos- 
phere, and  though  tliey  take  up  solutions  of  many  purely 
iriiueral  matters,  also  consume  dead  organic  substances;  the 
diflerence  between  their  habits  in  this  respect,  compared  with 


FOOD  OF  PLANTS. 


63 


the  custom  of  animals,  being  that  the  latter  eat  those  sub- 
stances in  the  bulk,  while  plants  need  that  they  shall  lirst  oe 
disintegrated  and  dissolved, — that  they  shall  have  already  un- 
dergone, in  fact,  the  very  process  which  it  is  the  first  office 
of  the  animal  stomach  to  effect.  Parasites,  such  as  the 
mistletoe  and  Orobanche,  so  far  from  feeding  on  purely  in- 
organic substances,  or  even  on  dead  or  decomposing  matter, 
subsist  on  the  living,  circulating  juices  of  the  trees  and 
plants  on  which  they  fix  themselves.  An  exacter  distinction 
is  that  animals  destroy  what  is  actually  in  possession  of  life, 
in  order  that  they  may  support  themselves;  while  plants, 
with  rare  exceptions,  are  innocent  of  such  deeds.  The  ex- 
ceptions occur  in  the  singular  plants  called  fly-catchers; 
botanically  Drosera,  and  Dionoea,  inhabitants  of  bogs  and 
morasses,  the  former  abundantly  in  England.  Their  leaves 
are  so  constructed  as  to  entrap  midges  and  other  little  flies; 
the  juices  of  whose  bodies,  or  the  gases  yielded  by  their 
decay,  appear  salutary  and  agreeable  to  them.  Thus  it  is, 
however,  that  everything  in  the  world  gets  eaten  sometime; 
the  ceaseless  activity  of  nature  is  conversion  of  what  is  low^er 
into  w hat  is  higher, — above  the  lowest  nature  each  thing  is 
eaten  and  eater,  end  and  beginning  in  succession.” 

31.  The  particular  diet,  both  of  animals  and  of  plants,  is 
a subject  of  inexhaustible  interest.  That  of  plants  is  the 
leading  idea  of  the  new  science  of  ‘‘Agricultural  Chemistry.” 
Doubtless,  the  mechanical  character  of  the  soil  has  its  influ- 
ence; but  it  can  hardly  be  from  this  circumstance  alone 
that  we  find  the  golden  cistus,  the  vervain,  and  many  deli- 
cate grasses  in  perfection  only  wdien  their  roots  can  shoot  in 
calcareous  earth ; that  some  plants  thrive  best  on  sandstone, 
others  upon  clay;  and  that  the  sea-shore  alone  is  found 
possessed  of  the  salsola,  the  sea-convolvulus,  and  the  lovely 
but  formidable  Eryngo,  the  blue  touch-me-not  of  the  sand 
hills.  Wheat  and  other  cereals  require  silex;  the  oak  is 


64 


FOOD  OF  ANIMALS. 


reputed  to  love  a soil  with  iron  in  it.  Generally  speaking, 
however,  there  is  a great  uniformity  in  the  tastes  of  plants, 
as  proved  by  their  intermixture  in  the  fields.  Taking  one 
with  another,  two  substances  alone  seem  to  suffice  them — 
water  and  carbonic  acid.  Widely  different  is  it  with  ani- 
mals. Here  almost  every  species  has  an  especial  liking, 
though  all  tastes  may  be  classed  under  some  few  general 
heads.  Gregarious  animals  live  mostly  upon  the  fruits  of 
the  earth  ; solitary  ones  upon  the  flesh  of  other  animals. 
Among  the  latter,  or  the  carnivora,  there  are  feeders  on  fish, 
flesh,  and  fowl  respectively;  among  the  herbivorous,  some 
feed  on  leaves,  some  on  roots,  some  pick  out  the  seeds,  others 
take  the  whole  plant,  the  bees  love  only  the  honey.  This 
various  choice,  together  with  the  selection  of  different  species 
of  plants  and  animals  by  certain  creatures,  and  the  rejection 
of  others,  allows  of  all  finding  a plentiful  supply  of  what  is 
salutary,  and  this  without  interfering  with  the  wants  of 
others.  Linmeus  tells  us,  that  after  a careful  course  of  trials 
with  the  domesticated  animals,  and  about  five  hundred 
species  of  the  ordinary  plants  of  the  fields,  the  horse  was 
found  to  eat  two  hundred  and  sixty-two,  the  cow  two  hun- 
dred and  seventy-six,  the  sheep  three  hundred  and  eighty- 
seven.  To  this,  says  that  observant  old  naturalist,  Benjamin 
Stillingfleet,  is  to  be  referred  that  capital  economy  which 
knows  that  when  eight  cows  have  been  in  a pasture,  and  can 
no  longer  get  nourishment,  two  horses  will  do  very  w^ell 
there  for  some  days ; and  when  the  horses  have  taken  all 
they  care  for,  four  sheep  will  still  find  supplies.  There  are 
few  things  more  curious  in  rural  life  than  to  watch  a cow 
while  grazing,  and  see  how  she  will  push  aside  the  butter- 
cups. Some  animals  care  only  for  what  is  harsh,  as  the 
camel,  whose  greatest  relish  is  an  oasis  of  tough,  prickly 
buslies,  such  as  tlie  ass  itself  would  turn  away  from.  Thus 
consumed,  by  one  animal  or  other,  it  follows,  that  no  plant 


SPECIALITIES  OE  FOOD. 


65 


is  absolutely  uneatable,  no  plant,  indeed,  absolutely  poison- 
ous, but  only  poisonous  to  particular  creatures.  Probably 
there  is  not  a single  species  of  the  vegetable  kingdom  but  is 
eaten,  or  partly  eaten,  by  a creature  appointed  to  it,  how- 
ever distasteful  and  even  deleterious  it  may  be  to  others. 
The  horse  gives  up  the  water-hemlock  to  the  goat ; the  goat 
leaves  the  monkshood  for  the  horse ; if  man  eats  of  either 
plant,  he  dies.  Slugs  eat  that  very  poisonous  toadstool,  the 
Agaricus  muscarius ; also  the  Agaricus  phalloides,  a species 
still  more  terrible  from  the  rapidity  of  its  deadly  effect. 
Though  the  leaves  of  the  laurel  are  so  obnoxious  to  insects 
in  general  as  to  be  the  readiest  poison  for  them  with  the 
entomologist,  the  caterpillar  of  one  kind,  the  Orgyia  antiqua, 
finds  them  wholesome.  When  driven  by  famine,  it  would 
seem,  nevertheless,  that  there  are  no  creatures  but  what  will 
eat  of  other  kinds  of  food  than  they  ordinarily  select,  and 
which  they  are  fitted  for  by  nature.  Spallanzani  made  a 
pigeon  live  on  flesh,  and  an  eagle  on  bread.  Animals 
domesticated  by  man,  and  thus  leading  a semi-artificial  life, 
will,  apart  from  necessity,  also  curiously  change  their  habits 
as  to  food.  In  some  parts  of  Persia,  according  to  Fraser, 
“ the  cattle  have  but  little  pasture ; . . . the  chief  article  of 
their  food  is  dried  fish,  which,  with  pounded  date-stones,  is 
all  they  get  to  eat  for  a considerable  portion  of  the  year.” 
Every  one  is  acquainted  with  the  extraordinary  eating 
powers  of  insects.  With  these  creatures,  eating  seems 
ordained  less  for  the  preservation  of  the  individual  than  for 
the  destruction  of  effete  organic  matter,  a fact  peculiarly 
observable  in  the  Diptera  and  the  Coleoptera.  Some  kinds 
seem  created  chiefly  to  overpower  other  insects.  Were  it 
not  for  the  carnivorous  lady-birds,  the  fat,  green,  vegetarian 
aphides  which  infest  the  stalks  of  so  many  of  our  sweetest 
flowers,  would  be  a thousand  times  more  troublesome. 


66 


FOOD  OF  MAN. 


‘‘  Exactly  what  browsing  flocks  and  herds  of  deer  are  to  the 
quadruped  of  prey,  the  tribes  of  aphides  are  to  the  lady- 
birds, and  some  two  or  three  allies  of  the  Coccinella  race ; 
save  for  which  destroyers,  not  a lover  of  sweet  posies  could 
gather  a rose  or  a honeysuckle  undefiled.”  To  the  execution 
of  these  offices  by  the  insect  tribe,  the  almost  incalculable 
number  of  their  species,  the  extremely  rapid  multiplication 
of  many,  the  unparalleled  voracity  of  others,  and  the  quick- 
ness with  which  digestion  is  carried  in  their  very  short  intes- 
tinal canal,  all  tend  to  contribute.  Fislies,  and  marine 
animals  in  general,  perform  the  same  offices  for  the  sea  that 
insects  subserve  upon  the  land ; incessantly  destroying  and 
devouring,  they  contribute  immensely  to  the  preservation  of 
its  purity;  some,  as  crabs,  consuming  indiscriminately  both 
dead  and  living  prey,  and  in  their  cruel  and  greedy  habits 
reiterating  those  of  the  hyena  and  the  wolf  The  stomachs 
of  these  creatures,  like  those  of  many  fishes,  not  infrequently 
contain  abundance  of  beautiful  little  shells,  principally 
microscopic,  gathered  up  during  their  travels  in  the  country 
of  the  mermaids. 

32.  Man,  in  a limited  sense,  is  omnivorous;  not  absolutely; 
he  cannot  eat  many  things  which  to  inferior  creatures  are 
pleasant,  as  bones,  and  the  leaves  of  trees.  Whether,  as  to 
first  intent,  he  is  an  herbivorous  or  a carnivorous  animal,  is 
a question  only  for  enthusiasts.  His  anatomical  structure 
supplies  an  equal  argument  for  either  side,  Helvetius  and 
others  deeming  that  it  proves  a carnivorous  nature;  and  the 
modern  school  of  vegetarians,  an  herbivorous  one.  Kous- 
seau  ingeniously  urges,  in  support  of  the  latter  view,  that 
woman  is  a uniparous  animal,  and  provided  with  no  more 
than  two  breasts,  circumstances  predominant  among  the 
females  of  the  brute  herbivora;  while  in  the  females  of  the 
brute  carnivora,  the  number  is  in  both  cases  considerably 


FOOD  OF  MAN. 


67 


higher.*  Man  is  not  intended  to  live  upon  either  kind  of 
food  by  itself.  Inhabiting  every  variety  of  climate,  he 
would  have  been  ill  provided  for,  if  so  restricted ; as  it  is, 
he  can  dwell  in  countries  which  afford  only  animal  food,  or 
only  vegetable  food.  There  are  nations  who  have  little 
within  reach  besides  dates,  yams,  and  the  ivory-nut;  in  the 
extreme  north,  there  is  nothing  to  be  had  but  flesh.  Pro- 
bably enough,  the  number  of  human  beings  who  subsist  on 
fruits  and  farinaceous  roots  is  preponderant.  Though  ani- 
mal food  is  so  largely  consumed  in  cold  countries,  the  inha- 
bitants of  the  sunnier  and  warmer  parts  of  the  earth  derive 
their  chief  nourishment  from  trees  and  plants.  This,  how- 
ever, is  no  proof  of  its  superior  adaptedness;  there  can  be 
little  doubt  that  human  aliments  prepared  from  the  flesh  of 
animals,  are,  generally  speaking,  both  more  nutritious  and 
more  digestible.  The  herbivorous  creatures  killed  for  the 
table  having  already  converted  the  nutrient  substances  of 
the  vegetable  world  into  animal  matter,  our  own  digestive 
organs  are  saved  the  labor.  The  cow,  the  sheep,  the  deer, 
are  natural  bridges  between  the  grass  of  the  fleld  and  the 
human  body. 

33.  Not  less  interesting  than  the  variety  of  the  food  of 
different  animals  is  the  variety  in  the  organs  by  which  are 
accomplished  the  two  preliminary  processes  of  nutrition,  or 
prehension  and  mastication.  So  rigidly,  moreover,  are  they 
modeled  according  to  the  character  of  the  food  upon  which 
the  animal  subsists,  that  we  may  infer  what  it  eats  by  merely 
observing  its  extremities  and  mouth.  Feet,  for  instance,  of 
the  kind  called  hoofs,  are  incapable  of  seizing  living  prey; 
so  that  all  creatures  which  possess  them  are  necessarily  her- 
bivorous. Indeed,  there  is  scarcely  an  organ  of  the  animal 


* Sar  I’  Origine  de  Vinegalite  parmi  les  hommes.  Note  G.  (EuvreSj 
tome  iii.,  i)p.  193 — 195,  very  curious  and  amusing. 


68  HUNGER  THE  SOURCE  OF  MORAL  ORDER. 

frame  but  servos  a more  or  less  direct  purpose  in  regard  to 
feeding,  the  wing,  tlie  fin,  the  claw,  all  are  bestowed  towards 
this  end;  so  likewise  is  that  amazing  quickness  of  the  senses 
which  makes  the  sight,  the  hearing,  the  smell  of  many  pre- 
daceous quadrupeds  and  birds  so  vastly  superior  to  that  of 
man.*  The  organ  peculiarly  identified  with  the  feeding  of 
animals,  and  which  is  commonly  allowed  to  be  a distinctive 
characteristic  when  compared  with  plants,  namely,  the  sto- 
mach, is  given  them  because  of  their  powers  of  locomotion. 
Vegetables,  fixed  in  the  soil,  and  feeding  by  their  leaves 
and  spongioles  on  the  matter  which  envelopes  them,  do  not 
require  a special  organ  of  digestion,  into  which  food  can  be 
received  in  bulk.  Animals,  on  the  other  hand,  are  obliged 
to  take  their  food  at  intervals  not  so  much  suited  to  their 
wants  as  to  their  opportunities  of  obtaining  it.  Between 
the  feeding  of  brutes  and  mankind,  the  only  essential  differ- 
ence is,  that  while  the  former  consume  their  food  in  the 
state  in  which  it  is  yielded  by  nature,  man,  even  in  his 
rudest  condition,  subjects  it,  for  the  most  part,  to  some  kind 
of  cookery.  Man,  it  has  been  said  humorously,  is  ‘‘the 
cooking  animal.’’ 

34.  The  mere  knowledge  of  the  waste  of  the  tissues,  and 
of  the  organic  need  for  food  thence  arising,  would  not  be  a 
sufficient  provocative  to  eat.  Absorbed  in  darling  occupa- 
tions, many  men  would  never  think  of  taking  food,  did  not 
hunger  at  last  impel  them.  As  a physical  agent,  hunger  is 
thus  of  an  importance  impossible  to  over-rate:  and  its  moral 
value  is  necessarily  commensurate.  It  is  the  chief  source 
of  social  order ; for  if  mankind  could  do  without  food,  they 
would  be  out  of  reach  of  rule  and  control,  and  necessary 


* See  for  illustration  in  detail,  Sir  T.  C.  Morgaifs  “Sketches  of 
the  Philosophy  of  Jjife,”  chap,  iii.,  “The  Comhination  of  Organs  and 
Functions.” 


LEGITIMATE  ENJOYMENT  OF  FOOD. 


69 


subordination  would  not  exist.  ‘‘  Hunger/’  says  Bray, 
‘‘  lias  been  the  chief  source  of  man’s  progression,  seeing  that 
it  constitutes,  principally,  that  necessity  which  is  the  mother 
of  invention.  We  might,  perhaps,  have  been  made  to  do 
without  eating  and  drinking ; but  instead  of  this  being  a bless- 
ing, we  should  thereby  be  destitute  of  the  most  potent  stimu- 
lus of  the  mental  powers,  upon  the  action  of  which  powers 
happiness  wholly  depends.  The  privilege  of  requiring  no 
bread  would  not  be  equal  to  the  advantages  man  derives 
from  the  law  of  nature  which  compels  him  to  earn  it  by  the 
sweat  of  his  brow ; for  nature  has  imposed  no  more  labor 
than  is  pleasurable  and  necessary  to  health — unjust  laws 
and  regulations  with  respect  to  the  distribution  of  the  pro- 
ducts of  human  labor,  compel  the  majority  to  toil  more 
than  is  consistent  with  health  and  happiness — but  more 
fatal  than  unjust  laws  would  it  be  to  the  well-being  of  soci- 
ety, if  all  necessity  for  exertion  were  abrogated.*  No  one 
need  think  ill  of  eating,  or  of  any  of  its  associations,  except 
the  abuse.  Good,  substantial,  wholesome  food,  properly 
cooked,  and  neatly  served  up,  is  one  of  the  highest  proofs 
and  privileges  of  civilization ; it  is  a criterion  of  every  well- 
conducted  household,  and  of  every  true  and  clever  wife ; 
while  the  legitimate  enjoyment  of  it  is  one  of  the  most 
honest  and  innocent  of  pleasures.  All  sensible  and  good- 
natured  people  are  fond  of  eating ; and  one  of  the  pleasant- 
est things  it  is  possible  either  to  feel  in  one’s  self  or  to  wit- 
ness in  another,  is  a healthy  and  natural  readiness  for  the 
bounties  of  the  table.  To  satisfy  nature  without  surfeiting 
it,  is  one  of  the  foremost  of  the  “ good  works  ” we  are  re- 
quired to  enact.  Thankful  enjoyment  of  our  daily  bread  is 
no  small  part  of  Christianity.  If  ‘‘lying  lips”  ‘‘be  an 
abomination  to  the  Lord,”  so  is  the  ingratitude  of  asceti- 


* “Philosophy  of  Necessity.^’  Vol.  i. 


70 


ENJOYMENT  OF  FOOD  A DUTY. 


cism ; and  infinitely  more  so,  the  dyspepsia  wliicli  di.sal)les 
the  intemperate  from  the  great,  universal  duty  of  all  man- 
kind to  have  a good  aj)2^etite.  While  all  possible  forms  of 
intemperanee  and  excess  are  denounced  both  in  the  Old 
Testament  and  New,  the  substantial  viands  gathered  from 
the  fields  and  the  vineyards,  the  firstlings  of  the  flocks  and 
herds,  the  fig,  the  olive,  and  the  pure  juice  of  the  grape,  are 
promised,  over  and  over  again,  as  the  rewards  of  virtuous 
toil,  and  catalogued  with  the  blessings  to  be  received  in  this 
lower  world.  ‘‘  I have  no  patience,’’  says  a wise  wrTtcr, 
with  those  who  pretend  not  to  care  for  tlieir  dinner,  or  the 
ludicrous  assumption  that  ‘spiritual’  negations  imply  su- 
perior souls.  A man  who  is  careless  about  his  dinner,  is 
generally  one  of  flaccid  body  and  feeble  mind.  As  old 
Samuel  Johnson  authoritatively  said — ‘ Sir,  a man  seldom 
thinks  of  anything  with  more  earnestness  than  he  thinks 
of  his  dinner;  and  if  he  cannot  get  that  well  dressed,  he  may 
he  suspected  of  inaccuracy  in  other  things.^  When  a man 
is  not  basely  insensible  to  hunger  of  soul,  the  keen  intellec- 
tual voracities  and  emotional  desires,  he  is  all  the  healthier, 
all  the  stronger,  all  the  better  for  a noble  capacity  for  food — 
a capacity  which  becomes  noble  when  it  ministers  to  a fine, 
and  not  merely  to  a gluttonous  nature.”*  Even  a plain 
diet  is  but  half-good.  It  cannot  be  doubted  that,  on  the 
whole,  refinement,  in  board  as  well  as  lodging — being  a 
fruit  of  intelligence — is  favorable  alike  to  health  and  lon- 
gevity. There  are  advantages  we  little  think  of  in  those 
culinary  ingenuities  which,  not  significantly  adding  to  the 
cost  of  our  food — in  fact,  reducing  it,  by  subserving  to  di- 
minish waste — at  once  modify  and  neutralize  ill  flavours, 
and  so  greatly  augment  its  i)leasant  sapidity.  The  pleasure 
of  meal-times  is  one  of  the  prerogatives  of  human  nature. 


* “ Sea-side  Studies.’^  Blackwood’s  Magazine^  September,  1856. 


EVILS  OF  INSUFFICIENT  FOOD. 


71 


The  lower  mammalia — the  only  other  animals  who  appear 
to  enjoy  the  flavour  of  their  food — ^^are  insensible  to  Jiaut-gout 
Granivorous  birds  and  most  kind  of  fislies  not  only  have 
cartilaginous  tongues,  which  prevent  them  from  tasting,  but 
swallow  their  food  whole,  guided  probably  to  the  choice  of 
it  by  sight  rather  than  taste  or  smell.  Fishes  seem  to  de- 
pend entirely  on  the  eye,  if  we  may  judge  from  the  readiness 
with  which  they  swallow  artificial  bait.  Man’s  palate,  in 
short,  was  not  given  him  for  nothing ; but  to  procure 
pleasures  for  him  commensurate  with  his  patrician  rank. 

35.  The  benefits  which  accrue  to  the  body  from  supplying 
it  with  a sufficiency  of  wholesome  food,  show  in  the  strongest 
light  the  evils  which  result  from  msufficiency.  Disease  is 
one  of  the  first.  Many  diseases  are  induced  by  it,  many 
are  aggravated.  Sanitary  movements  having  reference  to 
the  poor,  cannot  possibly  effect  any  lasting  amelioration  of 
their  condition  so  long  as  they  go  short  of  proper  aliment. 
It  is  worthy  the  attention  of  philanthropists,  that  epidemic 
and  pestilential  diseases  in  particular  are  far  more  widely 
fatal  in  their  ravages  among  the  ill-fed  than  among  the 
well-fed.  Certainly  there  are  several  such  diseases  which 
assail  rich  and  poor  alike — small-pox,  measles,  and  scarlet- 
fever,  for  example ; but  even  these  are  much  more  destruc- 
tive when  they  attack  persons  who  have  been  forced  to  sub- 
sist on  poor  or  too  scanty  nourishment.  Legislators,  no  less 
than  the  charitable,  may  find  in  this  fact,  a vitally  import- 
ant principle  of  action.  Insufficiency  overprolonged  in- 
duces the  slow  and  miserable  death  of  starvation,  and  no 
physical  calamity  can  be  conceived  of  as  more  terrible. 
Yet  starvation — actual,  killing  starvation — is  perhaps  the 
least  part  of  the  injury  to  the  human  race  which  comes  of 
privation  of  needful  sustenance.  Actual  death  from  hun- 
ger is  only  an  occasional  thing.  The  evils  which  accrue 
from  the  debilitating  effects  of  customary  stint,  life  still  drag- 


72 


EFFECTS  OF  A STARVING  DIETARY. 


ging  on,  are  incalculably  more  extended  and  severe.  Even 
the  physical  disease  which  tliey  engender  is  a sliglit  evil 
compared  with  the  impeded  mental  action  which  must  needs 
follow.  A miserable,  starving  dietary,  wliile  it  weakens  the 
body,  half-paralyzes  the  soul,  and  not  seldom  leads  direct  to 
insanity  itself.  When  we  remember  how  entirely  the  brain 
depends  for  its  nourisliment  uj)on  the  blood,  and  that  if  tliis 
sovereign  pabulum  of  life  and  nervous  energy  be  either  di- 
minished in  quantity  or  deteriorated  in  quality,  no  organ  of 
the  body  can  possibly  work  well,  how  easy  it  is  to  see  that 
between  insufficient,  innutritious  diet,  and  prostration  of 
mind,  there  is  little  less  than  an  inevitable  connection. 
Every  man  has  experienced  the  feeling  of  debility  which  at- 
tends hunger  but  a little  longer  unsatisfied  than  usual,  and 
how  swift  and  lively  is  the  revival  of  every  function  of  the 
mind  as  well  as  body  which  follows  its  proper  gratification. 
The  difficulty  of  awakening  the  intelligence  of  a poorly-fed 
child  compared  with  that  of  the  well-nourished  one,  is 
known  to  every  observant  teacher  in  town  Sunday-schools. 
Intellectual  productions  which  are  born,  not  as  literature 
should  always  and  only  be,  of  the  soul’s  going  to  it  as  the 
hart  to  the  water-brooks,  but  of  the  howling  of  the  dogs  of 
hunger,  betray  no  less  plainly  their  miserable  origin.  Think- 
ing, like  acting,  requires  a good  substratum  of  physical  nou- 
rishment. Genius,  though  it  has  sometimes  turned  to  vege- 
tarianism, is  rarely  found  adhering  to  it;  all  its  greatest 
works  have  been  achieved  on  a basis  of  generous  diet.  This 
is  not  all.  Where  the  body  is  debilitated  by  hunger,  the 
affections  also  are  necessarily  dull,  and  little  excitable  to 
anything  better  than  sensualities.  Any  man  who  has  been 
compelled  to  undergo  the  hardships  of  fasting,  whether  by 
poverty,  or  the  exigencies  of  travel  in  remote  places,  knows 
the  gradual  inroad  of  cross-grained  views,  indolence,  and 
recklessness  on  an  empty  stomach.  The  crowning  and 


CHRISTIANITY  BEGINS  WITH  PHYSICAL  SUCCOR. 


73 


deadly  evil  which  comes  of  insufficient  nourishment  is,  ac- 
cordingly, the  vitiation  of  man’s  moral  nature ; and  what  a 
lesson  is  there  in  this  for  the  Home  Missionaries  of  Christia- 
nity and  their  patrons ! It  is  no  less  vain  than  aggravating 
to  preach  faith  and  loving-kindness  where  father  and  mother 
and  children  lie  huddled  together  in  the  pains  and  apathy 
of  hunger.  To  the  starving,  religion  may  well  appear  folly 
and  hypocrisy ; nor  is  it  any  marvel  that  it  should  fail  to 
interest  them.  So  long  as  the  gospel  is  proffered  without  its 
proper  preface  of  ministry  to  man’s  physical  necessities,  the 
poor  must  not  only  be  expected  to  decline  it,  but  they  are 
not  altogether  unjustified  in  so  doing,  for  God  requires  no 
man  to  take  sermons  and  benedictions  as  a substitute  for 
the  bread  which  the  body  needs.  Every  one  knows  how 
unamiable  even  the  best-fed  are  liable  to  become  if  kept 
too  long  waiting  for  their  meals — how  inaccessible  they  are 
at  such  times  to  appeals  which  after  dinner  meet  most  gra- 
cious response.*  Is  it  surprising,  then,  that  religious  truth 
should  find  more  indifference  than  welcome  among  the  hun- 
gry and  half-nourished  ? It  is  difficult  for  a famished  man 
to  believe  that  there  is  a Father  in  heaven  till  he  feels  that 
he  has  brothers  on  earth.  If  there  be  one  farce  more 
wretched  than  another,  it  is  the  building  a “Kagged 
Church”  and  holding  ‘‘special  religious  services”  as  the 
first  thing  indispensable  to  the  bettering  the  condition  of 
the  poor.f 

* Voltaire  knew  this  well  when  he  told  place-seekers — “II  faut 
toujours  prendre  mollia  fandi  tempora.  II  y a une  grande  analogie 
entre  les  intestines  et  nos  passions,  notre  maniere  de  penser,  notre 
conduite.^' 

f See  for  illustrative  details  on  the  general  subject,  “An  Inquiry 
into  the  Morbid  Effects  of  Deficiency  of  Food,  chiefly  with  reference 
to  their  occurrence  among  the  Destitute  Poor.”  By  R B.  Howard, 
M.  D.  London  and  Manchester,  1839. 

7 I) 


74 


EVIL  CONSEQUENCES  OF  EXCESS. 


86.  Too  much  food  is  as  bad  as  too  little.  To  sacrifice  to 
the  stomach  that  nervous  energy  which  ought  to  be  devoted 
to  the  brain,  the  organ  of  our  most  ennobling  and  most 
pleasurable  faculties,  is,  in  fact,  so  far  as  regards  the  reten- 
tion of  genuine  manliness,  little  better  than  to  commit  sui- 
cide outright.  Disease,  though  probably  a third  part  of  all 
that  there  is  in  the  world  is  attributable  to  this  cause,  is,  as 
in  a former  instance,  the  least  of  the  evils  that  have  to  be 
affiliated  on  ill-regulated  eating:  infinitely  more  dire  are 
the  peevishness  and  ill-humor  which  it  engenders,  the  gloomy, 
hypochondriacal  and  dissatisfied  tempers  which  generally 
overtake  the  intemperate  eater  and  drinker,  and  make  him 
a pest  both  to  himself  and  to  society.  Many  a man's  fall 
and  ruin  have  come  of  the  overloaded  and  thence  disordered 
stomach  of  another ; as  many  a man's  rise  and  prosperity 
of  another's  temperance  and  cheerful  health.  No  less 
destructive  is  intemperance  to  the  intellectual  energies. 
The  intellects  which  lie  sunk  in  sluggishness  through  over- 
loading the  stomach,  are  incomparably  more  numerous  than 
those  which  are  slow  and  stupid  by  nature.  The  authors 
themselves  of  their  condition,  the  cross  and  imbecile  through 
over-feeding,  do  not  belong  to  society  proper;  they  are  not 
human,  yet  neither  are  they  brutes,  for  no  brute  is  intem- 
perate; no  longer  men,  gluttons  and  drunkards  form  an 
outside  class  by  themselves,  the  nobleness  of  their  nature  to 
be  estimated,  as  in  all  other  cases,  by  the  quality  and  end 
of  their  delights.  It  is  worthy  of  remark,  that  nothing  is 
more  speedily  and  certainly  destructive  also  of  the  beauty 
of  the  countenance.  Diet  and  regimen  are  the  best  of  cos- 
metics; to  preserve  a fair  and  bright  complexion,  the  diges- 
tive organs  need  primary  attention. 

37.  It  is  a striking  and  highly-suggestive  fact  in  human 
economy,  and  one  here  deserving  to  be  noticed,  that  the  two 
physical  powers  which  have  most  intimate  relation  with  life, 


HUNGER  AND  LOVE  THE  WORLD'S  MINISTERS.  75 


the  one,  to  its  maintenance  in  the  individual,  the  other  to 
its  communication  to  new  beings,  should  be  precisely  those 
which,  while  they  fill  it  with  energy  by  right  exercise,  and 
confer  the  keenest  of  sensuous  pleasures,  are  contrariwise  the 
very  powers  through  which  may  be  inflicted,  by  abuse,  the 
deepest  injuries  it  is  susceptible  of  Eating  and  drinking, 
attended  to  as  nature  directs,  are  the  essential  origin  of 
every  animal  pleasure,  and  the  basis  of  moral  and  intellec- 
tual happiness;  similarly,  the  initiative  of  the  sweet  privi- 
lege of  offspring  invigorates  both  body  and  mind,*  and  is 
the  foundation  of  home  and  its  smiling  circle,  with  all  the 
dearest  and  most  beautiful  affections  of  humanity.  The 
punishments,  on  the  other  hand,  which  fall  upon  abuse  of 
the  first,  are  paralleled  exactly  in  the  intellectual  dulness,  the 
melancholy,  the  pusillanimity  and  weariness  of  life  which 
form  the  inevitable  retribution  of  excess  in  the  other.  By 
Hunger  and  Love  is  the  world  held  together  and  sweetened ; 
by  Hunger  and  Love  is  it  disgraced  and  made  wretched. 
These  are  the  two  poles  of  the  little  world  of  human  nature, 
round  which  everything  else  revolves ; the  very  structure  of 
the  body  in  its  relation  to  them  corresponding  with  and 
resulting  from  the  polar  idea.  It  may  be  added,  that  where 
one  of  these  great  institutions  is  honored,  there  also,  for  the 
most  part,  is  the  other;  where  either  is  profaned,  the  pro- 
fanation extends  to  both.  Though  temperance  and  purity 
may  sometimes  not  coexist  in  nice  balance,  no  two  things 
are  ever  more  frequently  in  company  than  gluttony,  over- 
drinking, and  immodesty.  It  is  in  the  intimate  relation 
which  they  bear  to  life  that  the  reason  exists  why  in  all 


* See  on  the  latter  points,  Feuchsterleben’s  Principles  of  Medi- 
cal Psychology,’^  (Sydenham  Society’s  voL,  1847,)  sect.  67,  p.  181. 
The  author  cites  an  extraordinary  instance  in  Casanova,  who  at 
Buch  moments  solved  the  most  difficult  mathematical  problems.” 


76 


SPIRITUAL  SIGNIFICANCE  OF  EATING. 


ages  there  has  been  an  intuitive  reverence  in  riglitly-ordcrcd 
minds  for  the  seal  of  sexual  love ; and  why  a species  of  sanc- 
tity has  from  the  earliest  days  of  history  attached  to  eating 
and  drinking,  which  in  ancient  times  entered  largely  into 
religious  ceremonies,  as  they  do  now  and  will  for  ever  in  the 
most  sacred  rite  of  Christianity.  Eating  and  drinking,” 
says  Feuerbach,  ‘‘are  themselves  religious  acts,  or  at  least 
ought ^io  be  so.  With  every  mouthful,  we  should  think  of 
the  God  who  gave  it.”  It  is  but  an  amplification  of  the 
custom,  which  commences  every  procedure  of  interest  or 
importance  with  a plentiful  spread  upon  the  table.  It  may 
not  be  suspected,  and  is  often  dishonored,  but  the  origin  of 
the  practice  at  least  was  a devout  one.  Friendship  pursues 
the  same  course;  because,  as  life  is  the  most  precious  of  pos- 
sessions, the  highest  act  of  goodness  that  generous  sentiment 
can  perform  is  to  provide  means  for  its  maintenance  and 
prolongation.  To  offer  food  is  symbolical  of  sincerely  wish- 
ing health  and  longevity.  How  beautiful  are  affection  and 
the  gift  of  nourishment  united  in  the  first  tenderness  of  the 
mother  towards  her  babe!  She  loves  and  she  feeds.  Even 
the  plant,  when  it  opens  its  seed-pods  and  lets  its  offspring 
fall  to  the  earth,  bestows  upon  each  little  embryo  an  imita- 
tive bosom  in  the  milk-like  farina  which  encloses  it,  and 
which  suckles  it  during  germination. 


CHAPTER  V. 


THB  ATMOSPHETIE  IN  ITS  MEIATION  TO  IIFE. 

38.  By  the  Air — in  repose  the*  atmosphere,  in  movement 
the  wind — “we  live,  and  move,  and  have  our  being.’’  So 
with  all  other  living  creatures.  The  very  word  “animal,” 
signifies  “breather.”  “Animated  nature”  means  breathing 
nature;  “inanimate”  that  which  does  not  breathe.  The 
corresponding  Greek  terms  ^cob^;  and  ^cbov  are  similarly 
derived,  through  ^dco^  to  live,  from  deco^  to  breathe,  and 
the  intensitive  prefix  l^d.  Grateful  for  these  expressive 
figures,. the  poetic  Greeks  reflected  them  on  to  their  source, 
calling  the  summer  breezes  the  zephyrs,  literally  the  “life- 
bringers.”  Zephyrus  was  emphatically' the  west  wind,  and 
deified,  was  said  to  produce  flowers  and  fruit  by  the  sweet- 
ness of  his  breath,  charmingly  alluded  to  by  Homer  in  his 
description  of  the  gardens  of  Alcinous.*  Zeh^  or  Jupiter 


* Odyssey  vii.  119.  Compare  Virgil — 

Zephyris  cum  Iseta  vocantibus  sestas 

“ When  gay  summer  comes,  invited  by  the  zephyrs.^^ 

Georgia  iii.  322. 

See  also  Lib.  ii.  330.  Modern  poets  have  freely  taken  up  the 
idea,  and  often  with  great  elegance  and  success,  as  in  the  “Paradiso’’ 
of  Dante, — 

In  quella  parte,  ove  surge  ad  aprire 

Zeffiro  dolce  le  novelle  fronde 

Di  che  si  vede  Europa  rivestire. — Canto  xii.  46-48. 

“In  that  clime  where  rises  the  sweet  zephyr  to  unfold  the  new 
leaves  wherein  Europe  sees  herself  fresh  clothed.’’ 

7 


77 


78  MCTIAL  INFLUENCES  OF  THE  ATMOSPHERE. 


himself  was  originally  only  a personification  of  the  air 
whence  it  is  that  in  the  poets  his  names  are  not  uncommonly 
used  in  the  place  of  aer  and  aura,  as  in  the  malus  Jupiter, 
sub  Jove  frigido,  &c.,  of  Horace,  and  when  Theocritus  says 
that  Xsb^  ‘‘is  one  while  indeed  fair,  but  at  another  time  he 
rains.”  Aratus  styles  the  air  Zeh^  (f'jjcxb^,  the  physical 
God.  ^schylus  gives  it  the  epithet  “divine.”  Virgil  de- 
scribes it  as  omnipotens  pater  JEiher.  “ But  can  air,”  says 
Cicero,  “which  hath  no  form,  be  God?  For  the  Deity  must 
necessarily  be  not  only  of  some  form,  but  the  most  beau- 
tiful.” The  mediate  source  of  life  to  every  occupant  of 
earth.  Hare  describes  it  beautifully  as  the  “unfathomable 
ether,  that  emblem  of  Omnij)resent  Deity,  which  everywhere 
enfolding  and  supporting  man,  yet  baffles  his  senses,  and  is 
unperceived,  except  when  he  looks  upwards  and  contem- 
plates it  above  him.” 

39.  The  air  is  the  great  physician  of  the  world.  Health 
confides  in  it  as  its  most  faithful  friend.  The  weak  it  invi- 
gorates, the  weary  it  refreshes.  What  is  more  grateful  than 
to  go  from  a close  room  into  the  pure,  blowing  breath  of 
heaven,  even  if  it  be  but  on  a barren  highway ! What  more 
animating  and  delicious  than  to  exchange  the  hot,  perspiring 
streets  for  the  breezes  of  the  hills  or  of  the  sea!  It  minis- 
ters largely  even  to  our  moral  well-being.  Children  at 
boarding-schools  are  always  better  disposed  to  be  diligent 
and  well-behaved  when  the  day  has  been  commenced  with  a 
walk  in  the  fresh  air.  Under  its  genial  stimulus  we  forget 
our  vexations  and  disappointments,  we  become  cheerful  and 
vivacious,  and  thence — what  without  cheerfulness  is  impos- 
sible— more  willing  “to  refuse  the  evil  and  choose  the  good.” 
No  wonder  that  tlie  poets  seem  never  in  happier  mood  than 
when  the  wind  is  perceived  wafting  through  their  verses — 


THE  ATMOSPHERE  NEEDFUL  TO  BEAUTY. 


79 


This  castle  hath  a pleasant  seat ; the  air 
Nimbly  and  sweetly  recommends  itself 
Unto  our  gentle  senses. 

This  guest  of  summer, 

The  temple  haunting  martlet,  doth  approve 
By  his  lovM  mansionry,  that  the  heavens’  breath 
Smells  wooingly  here. 

Far  more  intimate  than  we  suppose  is  the  relation  of  the 
atmosphere  to  the  spiritual  and  intellectual.  Nothing  so 
powerfully  stimulates  intellectual  productiveness,  where  the 
slightest  capacity  for  it  is  present,  as  a walk  in  a gently- 
blowing  wind.  To  the  brilliant  purity  of  the  atmosphere  of 
Athens,  and  of  Greece  in  general,  and  the  happy  tempera- 
ture of  the  gales  which  fanned  its  hills,  so  favorite  a topic 
with  the  panegyrists  of  that  lovely  country,  are  justly 
ascribed  ‘Hhe  preeminence  in  learning,  taste,  literature,  and 
the  arts,  in  all  that  constituted  (jo(pta  in  its  widest  accepta- 
tion, which  distinguished  Athens  among  the  nations  of  the 
civilized  world/’*  ^schylus  enumerates  among  the  bless- 
ings of  a highly-favored  land,  “the  gales  of  the  winds  blow- 
ing with  clear  sunshine.”  Pindar  gives  the  same  to  the 
Islands  of  the  Blest,  “ where  shine  the  golden  flowers.” 

40.  At  all  times  and  seasons,  with  all  forms  and  condi- 
tions of  beings,  it  is  no  less  the  function  of  the  Air  to 
embellish.  Who  so  rosy  in  the  cheek  as  they  who  oftenest 
seek  the  pure  country  air!  How  does  the  plainest  face 
improve,  as  it  blushes  under  the  courtship  of  the  summer 
breezes  I Virgil,  with  the  true  poetic  instinct,  makes  ^neas 
owe  his  beauty  to  the  heavenly  breath  of  Venus — 


* Consult,  upon  the  connection  of  the  Greek  and  Italian  atmos- 
phere with  their  sculpture,  Winckelman’s  “History  of  Art  among 
the  Ancient  Greeks,”  Part  1,  section  3. 


80 


THE  ATMOSPHERE  NEEDFUL  TO  BEAUTY. 


Namque  ipsa  decoram 
Coesariem  nato  genitrix,  luniciKpie  juventse 
Purpureum,  et  laitos  oculis  ajjidrat  honores. 

^^For  Venus  herself  had  adorned  her  son  with  graceful  locks, 
flushed  him  with  the  radiant  bloom  of  youth,  and  breathed  a 
sprightly  lustre  on  his  eyes.’’ 

The  wind  is  necessary  even  to  the  vitalizing  of  the  aspects 
of  insensate  nature.  Scenes  dull  and  uninviting  in  its 
absence,  become  pleasant  when  we  visit  them  under  the 
inspiration  of  a breeze ; the  loveliest  lose  in  charm  if  the 
winds  be  asleep,  though  viewed  by  the  light  of  summer. 
For  this  is  not  merely  because  the  zephyrs  temper  the  too 
fervent  heat  of  the  sunbeams,  and  by  their  physical  action 
on  the  lungs  and  system  generally  give  buoyancy  and  elas- 
ticity to  the  limbs,  and  thus  enlarge  our  capacity  for  enjoy- 
ment. Nature  never  shows  so  lovely  when  still  as  when  in 
movement;  and  it  is  by  the  wind  that  all  her  charms  of 
motion  are  produced,  whether  of  the  clouds,  or  the  trees,  or 
the  corn-fields,  or  the  delicate  stalks  of  the  harebells.  The 
grandeur  of  the  unceasing  roll  of  the  sea,  though  partly 
owing  to  another  cause,  proves  in  itself  how  mighty  an  ally 
to  whatever  is  competent  to  become  beautiful  or  sublime,  is 
this  viewless  and  marvelous  visitant.  Motion  embellishes 
nature  thus  largely,  because  it  is  an  emblem  and  character- 
istic of  life,  to  contemplate  which,  is  one  of  the  souFs  highest 
pleasures,  by  reason  of  its  own  vitality.  It  loves  to  behold 
its  immortality  pictured  in  the  outward  world,  be  it  ever  so 
faintly;  and  if  it  meet  no  reflex  in  its  surveys,  feels  de- 
frauded and  unsatisfied.  The  correspondence  of  the  forms 
of  nature  with  the  particular  elements  of  our  spiritual  being, 
encourages,  this  secret  love  of  movement  so  strong  within  the 
sold  ; for  the  soul  not  only  sees  in  external  nature  the 
counterparts  of  its  elements  and  qualities,  but  reflections 


THE  ATMOSPHEEE  AND  THE  SENSES. 


81 


likewise  of  its  activities  and  deeds.  The  swaying  of  the 
trees,  the  bending  of  the  flowers,  the  waving  of  the  corn, 
severally  picture  occurrences  in  the  inner  life — the  one  kind 
promoted  by  the  wind  of  nature,  the  other  by  the  Spirit  of 
God. 

41.  We  depend  upon  the  atmosphere  for  the  effectuation 
of  the  powers  of  sense.  Eyes,  ears,  nose,  mouth,  skin  or 
seat  of  touch,  would  all  be  impotent  without  it.  Our  phy- 
sical power  of  seeing,  for  example,  depends  on  our  inhabit- 
ing an  atmosphere  competent  to  receive  and  diffuse  the  light 
transmitted  from  the  sun ; and  our  power  of  feeling  in  its 
equal  adaptedness  to  receive  and  diffuse  the  solar  heat. 
There  is  no  feeling  where  there  is  no  warmth ; what  greater 
antagonism  than  between  cold  and  sensation?  No  sound 
would  exist  in  nature,  if  there  were  not  an  atmosphere 
sensible  to  vibrations ; here  is  its  needfulness  to  hearing. 
So  with  odors  and  flavors,  which  it  is  only  by  inhalation  we 
distinguish  and  enjoy — here  are  smell  and  taste.  If  we 
want  to  avoid  the  bitterness  of  physic,  we  hold  the  breath ; 
if  to  feast  on  some  rich  bounty  to  the  palate,  we  inspire. 
How  beautiful,  again,  is  the  imagery  here  disclosed ! As 
the  atmosphere  gives  ability  to  see  and  hear  physically,  so 
does  the  divine  life,  as  it  flows  into  man’s  soul,  fill  him  with 
power  to  exercise  Intellect  and  Affection,  which  are  spiritual 
sight  and  feeling.  Love,  or  the  will-principle,  has  from  the 
beginning  been  “warmth,”  and  Intelligence,  or  the  mental 
eye,  “ light.”  Doubtless,  man  may  pervert  these  inestimable 
gifts ; just  as  the  earth,  which  keeps  fashion  and  pace  with 
nim  in  everything,  applies  the  pure,  sacred  sunshine  to  the 
production  of  thorns  and  nettles  as  well  as  flowers.  But  he 
has  no  intellectual  or  affectional  power  within  him,  but  what 
is  communicated  from  God ; just  as  he  has  no  power  of  see- 
ing or  of  feeling  but  what  he  owes  momentarily  and  con- 
tin  uously  to  the  sun  or  its  derivatives.  All  that  man  receives 


82  SPIRITUAL  ANALOGIES  OF  LIGHT  AND  MUSIC. 


1 


is  heavenly;  only  what  he  prepares  in  and  of  himself,  is 
bad.  The  atmosphere  brings  day-light  though  the  sun  be 
obscured.  However  overcast  the  skies,  there  is  yet  pro- 
duced sufficient  illumination  by  the  refracting  properties  of 
the  atmosphere  to  constitute  day.  Here  is  shown,  that  how- 
ever thick  the  clouds  which  rise  up  to  interpose  between 
God  and  our  hearts,  he  himself  is  ever  shining  steadily 
beyond  them,  and  in  his  benevolence  transmits  to  us  suffi- 
cient for  our  needs.  God  never  deserts  any  one,  not  even 
the  most  wicked ; He  is  kind  even  to  the  unthankful  and 
the  evil and  though  man,  like  the  earth  sending  up  its 
dense  vapors,  may  shut  out  the  direct  sunbeams  which  de- 
scend towards  him,  he  is  still  provided  with  a diffused  light 
of  refreshing,  energizing  succor,  brofight  by  the  all-per- 
vading, all-23enetrating  Spirit.  ‘‘Whither  shall  I go  from 
thy  Spirit,  or  whither  shall  I flee  from  thy  presence  From 
the  same  circumstance,  ^.  e.  the  refracting  properties  of  the 
atmosphere,  we  enjoy  the  solar  light  for  a long  time  before 
the  sun  actually  rises  above  the  horizon,  and  for  as  long  a 
period  after  its  setting.  In  the  evening,  when  by  the  rota- 
tion of  the  earth  the  sun  itself  is  made  to  disappear,  beams 
of  light  are  still  passed  into  the  higher  regions  of  the  air, 
and  thence  diffused  downwards  to  the  surface  of  the  earth, 
so  that  for  a while  we  are  unconscious  of  the  loss.  Except 
for  this  beautiful  provision,  the  evening  sun  would  in  a 
moment  set,  and  the  earth  be  shrouded  in  sudden  darkness. 
In  the  morning,  by  a similar  process  of  irradiation,  the 
atmosphere  receives  and  sheds  abroad  beams  which  are  not 
yet  visible. 

42.  The  eye  and  the  ear,  or  sight  and  hearing,  are  the 
types  and  continents  of  the  senses  generally.  So,  in  the 
conveyance  by  the  atmosphere  of  light  and  sound,  is 
summed  up,  representatively,  all  that  it  is  the  function  of 
the  Divine  life  to  communicate.  For  sound,  when  its  tones 


ANALOGIES  OF  LIGHT  AND  MUSIC. 


83 


are  agreeable  and  harmonious,  is  music,  and  music  is  objec- 
tive or  visible  nature  reiterated  in  a vocal  form — the  audi- 
ble counterpart  of  whatever  is  lovely  and  perfect  to  the  eye. 
Hence  the  wonderful  and  enchanting  variety  in  the  sounds 
of  nature;  a variety  sufficient,  as  we  have  elsewhere  seen,  to 
furnish  the  foundations  of  all  language.*  The  dashing  of 
waterfalls,  the  roar  of  the  sea,  the  voices  of  the  trees  in  their 
different  kinds,  each  intoning  to  the  wind  in  a new  mode, 
together  with  the  multitudinous  diversities  of  utterance 
proper  to  the  animate  part  of  creation,  are  not  mere  acci- 
dental results  of  physical  conformation,  nor  are  they  mean- 
ingless or  arbitrary  gifts.  Every  one  of  them  is  inseparably 
identified  with  the  object  that  utters  it,  because  of  an  origi- 
nal and  immutable  agreement  in  quality.  Music,  in  its  es- 
sential nature,  is  an  expression  of  the  Creator  as  truly  as 
his  objective  works.  Expressed  in  forms,  the  air  presents 
him  to  the  eye — the  organ  preeminently  of  the  intellect: 
expressed  in  sounds,  it  presents  him  to  the  ear — the  organ 
sacred  to  the  affections.  When  we  listen  to  a beautiful 
melody  or  “ it  is  surveying  a charming  and  varied 
landscape,  vivid  with  life,  and  adorned  with  innumerable 
elegances,  only  addressed  to  another  sense — heard  instead 
of  seen.  It  is  not  only  a sublime  fact  that  God  thus  doubly 
places  himself  before  us — it  is  a necessary  result  of  his  very 
nature ; for  music  stirs  the  soul  so  deeply  because  of  its  pri- 
mitive relation  to  his  goodness,  and  thus  to  everything  con- 
nected with  our  emotional  life;  objective  nature,  on  the 
other  hand,  so  largely  delights  the  intellect  (having  only  a 
secondary  influence  on  the  heart),  because  it  is  fashioned 
after  the  ideas  of  his  wisdom.  Each,  moreover,  assumes  its 
loveliest  when  the  other  is  in  company,  because  in  Him 


* Figurative  Language : its  Origin  and  Constitution,’’  chapters 
7 and  8. 


84 


A CHARACTERISTIC  OF  ORGANIC  LIFE. 


their  prototypes  are  married.  Never  is  nature  so  beautiful 
as  when  we  view  it  in  the  hearing  of  true  music;  in  no 
place  does  music  sound  so  sweet  as  amid  her  responsive  and 
tranquil  retreats. 

Why  should  we  go  in  ? 

My  friend  Stephano,  signify,  I pray  you, 

Within  the  house,  your  mistress  is  at  hand, 

And  bring  your  music  forth  into  the  air. 

Here  will  we  sit,  and  let  the  sounds  of  music 
Creep  in  our  ears. 

Echo,  due  like  other  sounds  to  the  agency  of  the  atmosphere, 
exemplifies  the  same  fine  truths.  The  sympathy  we  feel 
with  the  objective  forms  of  nature  is  the  equivalent  of  the 
agreeable  answers  with  which  she  acknowledges  our  voice. 
Echo,  in  her  beautiful  and  undelayed  replies,  is  the  image 
and  emblem  of  the  responses  in  which  the  emotions  of  man’s 
spirit,  when  he  addresses  himself  to  God,  are  immediately 
reflected  back  upon  himself,  coming  invisibly,  he  knows  not 
whence,  but  with  a magical  and  most  sweet  power.  No 
wonder  that  the  poets  have  in  all  ages  given  Echo  a fond 
and  grateful  mention.* 

43.  Let  us  pass  on  to  the  consideration  of  the  air  in  its 
immediate  bearing  upon  the  maintenance  of  organic  life. 


* What  can  be  more  beautiful  than  the  following,  in  the  Per- 
siansof  AEschylus  {Ittcl  ye  pLCProi  K.  r.  X.  386-391) — “When  Day, 
drawn  by  white  steeds,  had  overspread  the  earth,  resplendent  to  be- 
hold, first  of  all  a shout  from  the  Greeks  greeted  Echo  like  a song, 
and  Echo  from  the  island  rock  in  the  same  moment  shouted  back  an 
inspiring  cry.’^  Moschus,  in  his  elegy  on  Bion,  and  Bion,  in  his  own 
sweet  poem  upon  the  death  of  Adonis,  represent  Echo  as  sharing  in 
tlieir  lamentations,  as  does  Milton,  bewailing  Lycidas.  Other  ele- 
gant allusions  occur  in  Horace,  Odes  1,  20;  Tasso,  Gerusalemme  xi. 
11 ; Euripides,  Shakspere,  Camoens,  Shelley,  and  Byron,  particularly 
one  in  Manfred. 


RESPIRATION  IN  AGREEMENT  WITH  VIGOR.  85 

Grand  as  are  the  capacities  of  the  vital  stimuli,  or  heat, 
light,  and  electricity,  and  invaluable  as  are  the  uses  sub- 
served by  feeding,  it  remains  incontestably  true  that  without 
continuous  supplies  of  fresh  air.  Life  cannot  go  on.  We 
are  forever  referred  back  to  Respiration  as  the  prime  cha- 
racteristic of  a healthy,  living  creature.  The  assimilation 
of  food  may  be  suspended  for  a time ; darkness  and  severe 
cold  may  be  endured,  the  former  even  for  years ; but  respi- 
ration must  be  steady,  or  the  creature  dies.  Every  living 
thing  breathes  more  or  less ; only  the  lowest  forms  of  animal 
life  can  bear  intermissions  of  breathing  for  any  considerable 
period ; even  the  foul  parasites  called  Entozoa  cannot  live 
without  air,  though  secluded  by  their  position  from  direct 
contact  with  thn  atmosphere.  Entophytal  fungi,  or  those 
which  are  found  in  the  interior  of  other  plants,  and  some- 
times in  the  bodies  of  animals,  are  for  the  most  part  only 
the  mycelia  of  species  which  the  imperfect  supply  of  air 
prevents  from  developing  into  the  perfect  form. 

44.  Not  only  is  life,  as  a whole,  inseparable  from  respira- 
tion, but  every  variety  in  the  manifestation  of  life.  Where 
respiration  is  vigorous,  as  in  the  feathered  tribes,  life  is  ener- 
getic ; where  it  is  feeble,  as  in  the  reptile,  life  is  slow.  Similar 
phenomena  pertain  to  the  various  epochs  of  life.  The  rest- 
lessness of  the  child,  and  the  activity  of  the  boy,  correspond 
with  the  vigor  of  their  breathing:  the  calmness  and  power 
of  the  man  are  combined  with  a usually  tranquil  respiration, 
capable  of  being  increased  to  the  utmost  as  occasion  calls 
for  the  higher  energies  of  life;  in  the  old  man,  deliberate  in 
his  movements,  respiration  is  limited,  and  usually  slow.” 
Breathing  varies  even  with  the  condition  of  the  body,  and 
its  employments.  We  breathe  differently  in  sickness  and  in 
health;  differently  asleep  and  awake;  differently  in  the  per- 
formance of  every  action  of  our  animal  organs.  We  breathe 
In  one  mode  when  we  walk,  in  another  when  we  run.  Breath- 
8 


8B 


OBJECT  OF  BESPIBATION. 


ing,  accordingly,  is  not  only  a physiological  but  a representa- 
tive jdienomenoii.  In  the  respiratory  breast  dwell,  along 
with  its  health,  magnanimity  and  heroic  courage;  where  the 
breathing  is  languid,  we  look  but  for  timorousness  and  de- 
bility. In  our  own  species,  the  face  itself,  the  silent  echo  of 
the  heart,  is  not  a more  faithful  index  to  our  states,  either 
of  body  or  mind,  than  is  our  breathing.  As  the  emotions 
manifest  themselves  in  the  play  of  the  muscles  and  the  light 
of  the  eyes,  as  they  are  shown,  too,  in  the  tone  of  voice,  in  the 
harshness,  the  tremor,  the  as2:>erity  or  the  sweetness  of  the 
uttered  sound,  and  are  interpreted  thereby,  so  is  it  with  the 
attendant  breathing.  Let  us  but  hear  how  a person  is 
breathing,  and  though  he  be  out  of  sight  we  may  infer  to  a 
certain  extent,  how  he  is  employed,  and  judge  of  his  general 
tranquility  or  the  reverse.  See  what  testimony  to  it  there 
is  ill  Language ! To  be  animated,”  to  be  spirited,”  or 
“full  of  spirits,”  is  to  have  breath  in  plenty.  To  be  “out 
of  spirits,”  “spiritless,”  or  “dispirited,”  is  to  be  destitute  of 
breath;  literally  in  every  case;  for  all  agreeable,  lively,  or 
“life-like”,  emotions,  tend  to  raise  and  quicken  the  breath, 
while  depressing  ones  tend  to  lower  and  deaden  it.  Eager- 
ness pants;  despondency  sighs;  weariness  yawns;  extreme 
fear  makes  us  breathless  or  “aghast.”* 

45.  The  object  of  resj^iration  is  closely  allied  to  that  of 
Feeding;  nay,  it  is  no  other  than  that  of  feeding.  Consist- 
ing of  an  infinite  number  of  little  stomachs,  closely  asso- 
ciated and  connected,  but  feeding  upon  aerial  and  gaseous 
food  instead  of  terrestrial  and  solid,  such  as  is  received  into 
the  cavity  of  the  stomach  proper,  the  Lungs  are  no  less  im- 
mediately concerned  in  the  maintenance  of  the  health  and 


* See  for  an  admirable  development  of  the  whole  subject.  Garth 
Wilkinson’s  banqnet-likc  chapter  of  the  Lungs,  in  “The  Human 
Body,  and  its  connexion  with  Man.” 


OBJECT  OE  RESPIRATION. 


87 


vigor  of  the  blood  than  the  great,  proper  stomach  itself. 
Not  only  does  the  blood  require  to  be  nourished  with  the 
products  of  digestion,  but  to  be  freely  and  regularly  aerated, 
not  to  have  air  directly  admitted  to  it,  but  to  be  brought 
into  that  peculiar  proximity  to  the  air  which  is  effected  by 
the  process  of  natural  breathing.  This,  in  the  mammalia, 
takes  place,  as  Ave  are  all  aware,  in  the  lungs.  Immediately 
the  blood  enters  these  organs,  in  the  process  of  circulation, 
the  fact  is  signalled  by  certain  nerves  to  the  medulla  ohlon- 
gata.^  In  an  instant,  obedient  to  an  imperious  order  sent 
back  through  certain  other  nerves,  the  diaphragm  and 
muscles  of  the  ribs  expand  the  chest,  and  thus  enlarge  its 
cavity.  A vacuum  would  now  be  caused,  but  the  air,  rush- 
ing doAvn  from  without,  fills  every  corner,  and  in  so  doing, 
aerates  the  awaiting  blood,  feeding  it  with  oxygen,  and  re- 
ceiving carbon  in  exchange.  Then  the  various  muscles 
renew  their  play;  but  this  time  so  as  to  contract,  instead  of 
expand  the  chest,  the  lungs  e^^spire,  instead  of  mspiring,  the 
carbon  is  ejected  by  the  mouth  and  nostrils,  and  the  series 
of  actions  constituting  a respiration  is  complete.  Eenewed 
by  the  oxygen  thus  communicated,  the  blood  noAV  moves  on 
again  to  the  heart,  Avlience  it  Avas  first  propelled,  and  Avhence 
it  is  again  transmitted  to  the  body,  again  to  be  carbonized 
and  weakened,  and  in  due  course  to  be  returned  into  the 
lungs  for  refreshment  as  before.  Thus  is  the  history  of  the 
lungs  inseparable  from  that  of  the  heart.  Complementary 
to  one  another,  these  two  noble  organs,  the  heart  and  the 
lungs,  and  their  functions,  circulation  and  respiration,  form 
a beautiful  duality  in  unity,  representing  in  the  body  the 


* Medulla  oblongata  is  the  name  given  by  anatom.ists  to  a peculiar 
organ  contained  within  the  skull,  yet  no  part  of  the  brain  properly 
BO  called,  but  intermediate  between  this  and  the  spinal  cord,  upon 
the  summit  of  which  it  stands. 


88 


DUALITY  IN  UNITY. 


understanding  and  the  affections,  and  their  cooperative  play 
in  every  action  of  the  soul.  The  latter,  as  we  have  seen 
above,  represent  in  turn  the  all-supporting  wisdom  and  good- 
ness of  God — the  infinite.  Divine  essences  which,  expressed 
as  life,  conserve  the  universe.  They  fall,  accordingly,  under 
those  two  sublime,  reciprocal  principles  of  creation  which  in 
their  most  externalized  physical  embodiment  we  term  Male 
and  Female;  and  whose  noblest  presentation,  or  Man  and 
Woman,  are  the  lungs  and  the  heart  of  the  world.  As  man 
and  woman,  by  reciprocity  and  cooperation,  instrumental ly 
keep  the  human  race  alive;  so,  by  harmonious,  conjugal 
action  and  re-action,  the  lungs  and  the  heart  instrumentally 
keep  the  human  body  alive.  If  either  fail  to  perform  its 
office,  the  other  sinks  powerless,  and  the  fabric  dies.  Let 
the  heart  be  as  well-disposed  to  live  as  it  may,  unless  its  de- 
sires be  recognized  and  responded  to  by  the  lungs,  all  is  in 
vain ; for  though  there  is  no  life  where  there  is  no  blood, 
there  is  no  proper,  life-sustaining  blood  where  there  is  no 
air:  conversely,  the  lungs  are  efficient  for  their  part,  as 
stewards  of  life,  only  in  so  far  as  the  heart  cooperates  with 
them ; so  grand  and  universal  is  the  eternal  fiat  that  nothing 
shall  exist  for  itself  alone,  but  only  as  the  husband  or  the 
wife  of  some  other  thing;  that  the  unions  of  each  pair  shall 
be  followed  by  the  development  and  sustentation  of  some 
form  or  mode  of  life;  that  celibacy  shall  be  infertility,  and 
estrangement  a gateway  for  death.  Until  the  two  organs 
are  conjoined  in  complementary  action,  by  the  lungs  drawing 
breath,  the  grand  drama  of  existence,  as  we  well  know,  does 
not  commence.  In  the  womb,  life  exists  only  in  potency. 
Marriage  is  everywhere  the  real  beginning;  and  there  are 
no'  real  beginnings  without  it.* 


* See  tlie  beautiTul  description  of  the  marriage  of  the  Heart  and 
Lungs,  in  Swedenborg’s  ‘^Animal  Kingdom,”  i.  398. 


THE  HEAET  AND  THE  LUNGS. 


89 


46.  It  is  not  to  be  imagined  that  the  heart  and  lungs  do 
the  whole  work  of  life.  Just  as  marriage,  which  has  for  its 
physical  end  the  sustentation  of  the  human  race,  requires 
for  its  effectuation  a variety  of  subsidiary  and  contributive 
conditions,  so  the  maintenance  of  the  life  of  the  body  by 
the  heart  and  lungs,  which  is  a representative  of  marriage 
and  its  object,  demands  (intermediately  through  the  nervous 
centres)  the  contributive  functions  of  the  stomach,  the  skin, 
the  liver,  and  other  organs.  And  more  than  this : if  the 
action  of  any  one  of  them  become  deranged,  neither  heart 
nor  lungs  can  do  their  work  for  them ; just  as  with  complex 
machinery,  where,  if  a single  wheel  be  thrown  out  of 
gear,’’  the  coordination  of  actions  is  so  interfered  with  that 
the  whole  apparatus  comes  to  a stand.  Every  organ  of  the 
body  is  in  league  with  every  other  organ.  Every  one  of 
them  has  its  own  peculiar  province  and  vocation,  but  is  in 
treaty  at  the  same  moment,  offensive  and  defensive,  with 
every  other.  Nothing  is  proper  to  any  member  in  this 
unique  and  truly  royal  society  that  does  not  go  forth  in  turn 
for  the  interest  and  advantage  of  that  society.  Local 
benefits  immediately  become  public  ones ; what  injures  in 
one  part,  is  a calamity  to  the  Avhole.  The  cardinal  life  of 
every  organ,”  says  Swedenborg — the  excellency  of  its  life 
over  other  organs-^consists  in  the  fact,  that  whatever  it  has 
of  its  own,  still  in  a wider  sense  belongs  to  the  community; 
and  whatever  afterwards  results  from  the  community  to  the 
organ,  is  the  only  individual  property  which  the  latter 
claims.”  It  is  not  that  the  heart  and  lungs  are  all,  but  that 
life  is  preeminently  effectuated  through  them  ; the  cessation 
of  their  activity,  or  of  the  activity  of  either  of  them,  being 
also,  as  we  shall  see  presently,  the  most  usual  and  imminent 
cause  of  death.  So  far  from  any  one  organ,  or  set  of  organs, 
being  autocratic,  there  is  nothing  in  the  whole  scope  of  the 
natural  history  of  the  human  body  more  wonderful  than 


1 


90  SYMPATHY  OF  ORGANS  AND  FUNCTIONS. 

the  S}mpathy  and  concurrent  energy  of  its  various  parts, 
unless  it  be  the  fine  illustrative  analogy  afforded  in  the 
relations  of  the  senses,  as  intimated  to  our  daily  conscious- 
ness. Not  one  of  the  senses  can  be  exercised  'without  sim- 

o 

gesting  to  the  mind  acts  and  objects  which  belong  to  one  or 
more  of  their  colleagues ; and  the  highest  pleasures  we  enjoy 
through  their  medium,  are  those  which  result  from  our  being 
able  to  use  some  two  or  three  of  them  at  once.  The  water- 
fall, we  love  not  only  to  see,  but  to  hear ; and  not  only  to 
hear,  but  to  see;  the  eye  helps  the  palate  to  the  higher 
enjoyments  of  food,  and  the  nose  to  be  more  gratified  with 
the  smell  of  flowers ; who  ever  looks  on  the  smooth  cheek 
of  a little  child,  without  seeking  an  enhanced  pleasure  in 
patting  it!  True  science  is  never  science  only.  On  the 
same  principle  commences  all  true  investigation.  To  know 
any  single  and  individual  thing  thoroughly,  it  needs  that 
we  gather  instruction  concerning  it  from  all  things.  To 
learn  the  true  nature  of  a primrose,  we  must  inquire  of  firs 
and  palm-trees,  and  every  other  plant  that  springs  forth 
from  the  earth’s  bosom.  From  the  same  facts,  brought  to 
bear  in  yet  another  direction,  may  we  learn  how  it  is  that 
undue  indulgence  in  any  sensuality  enslaves  the  whole  being, 
and  gradually  chains  a man’s  every  thought  and  wish  to 
the  adopted  habit  of  the  sense  given  way  to. 

47.  In  the  full  sense  of  the  term.  Respiration  is  a far 
grander  performance  than  the  mere  inhalation  of  fresh  air 
through  the  air-passages.  Essentially,  it  is  concurrent  and 
coextensive  with  the  circulation,  so  that  its  seat  is  the  entire 
fabric.  Numbers  of  animals  have  no  lungs,  commonly  so 
called;  many  have  no  special  respiratory  organs  whatever. 
They  breathe,  nevertheless.  Such,  for  example,  are  jelly- 
fishes,  and  the  lowest  forms  of  Crustacea.  In  these,  respi- 
ration takes  place  through  the  medium  of  the  skin.  Not 
til  at  this  is  a new  arrangement  for  the  purpose  of  breathing, 


PECULIARITIES  OE  BREATHING  APPARATUS.  91 


now  for  the  first  time  met  with.  Animals  possessing  a 
special  apparatus,  have  cutaneous  respiration ; man  has  it, 
in  a slight  degree.  Here,  however,  it  is  only  auxiliary; 
whereas  in  the  jelly-fishes  it  stands  in  lieu  of  the  pulmonary 
kind,  and  the  creature  depends  upon  it  alone.  The  mecha- 
nism of  respiration  in  animals  possessing  lungs,  is  to  be 
regarded  merely  as  the  highest  development  of  a respiratory 
apparatus.  It  holds  the  first  place  because  it  is  the  mecha- 
nism by  which  the  greatest  quantity  of  oxygen  can  be  taken 
into  the  system.  There  is  no  difference  in  principle  between 
the  two  kinds ; it  is  a difference  simply  of  vigor  and  com- 
pleteness, the  oxygen  being  admitted  over  an  infinitely 
larger  surface  in  lungs  than  when  it  has  to  make  its  way 
through  the  integuments.  The  position  of  the  respiratory 
apparatus,  which,  like  its  form,  is  most  curiously  diversified 
in  different  creatures,  is,  generally  speaking,  regulated  by 
the  medium  in  which  the  animal  is  intended  to  live — on 
land,  or  in  water.  Terrestrial  animals,  breathing  air  in  its 
gasiform  condition,  have  internal  breathing  apparatus ; 
aquatic  animals,  collecting  it  from  the  water,  have  the 
apparatus  in  or  near  the  surface.  By  virtue  of  these 
arrangements,  neither  class  of  animal  can  endure  exchange 
of  natural  location.  The  bird  and  the  mammal  drown  if 
submerged  in  water;  the  fish  drowns  if  exposed  to  the 
atmosphere.  This  is,  in  the  former  case,  because  water 
cannot  furnish  an  adequate  supply  of  atmospheric  air ; in 
the  latter,  because  the  respiratory  organs,  from  their  external 
position,  rapidly  become  dry  by  evaporation.  Aquatic 
animals  which  have  them  partially  covered,  live  longer  out 
of  water  than  those  which  have  them  exposed.  The  activity 
of  life,  in  aquatic  as  well  as  in  terrestrial  animals,  is  univer- 
sally in  the  ratio  of  the  development  of  their  respiratory 
apparatus.  The  energetic  habits  of  fishes,  and  the  higher 
Crustacea,  such  as  crabs  and  lobsters,  correspond  with  the 


92 


RESPIRATION  AND  ANIMAL  HEAT. 


higher  development  of  their  breathing  organs ; the  com- 
paratively sluggish  life  of  the  mollusca,  the  annelida,  and 
the  branchial  amphibia,  corresponds  with  the  accomj)any- 
ing  lower  development.  A creature  possessing  both  pul- 
monary and  cutaneous  respiration,  but  able  to  live  by 
cutaneous  respiration  only,  if  prevented  from  breathing 
through  the  lungs,  sinks  into  the  sluggishness  and  inactivity 
which  characterize  the  animals  it  is  then  leveled  with  in 
regard  to  qualification  for  breathing.* 

48.  By  respiration,  accordingly,  in  the  complete  idea  of 
the  process,  and  however  effectuated,  whether  by  lungs  or 
other  apparatus,  or  cutaneously,  oxygen  is  introduced  to 
every  part,  and  carbon  removed  from  every  part.  The 
chemical  process  which  goes  on  during  the  formation  of  the 
carbonic  acid  in  which  the  carbon  is  carried  away,  is  at- 
tended by  the  extrication  of  “ animal  heat.’’  Here,  then, 
are  three  purposes  served : renovation  of  the  blood,  purifi- 
cation of  it,  and  sustentation  of  temperature.  Not  that 
‘^animal  heat,”  even  as  commonly  so  understood,  comes 
exclusively  of  the  combustion  concurrent  with  respiration. 
The  evolution  of  animal  heat  is  largely  dependent  on  the 
nervous  energy.  The  lower  the  nervous  energy  of  an  ani- 
mal, the  lower  is  its  temperature ; the  higher  the  nervous 
energy,  the  higher  is  its  temperature.  It  is  not  the  larger 
or  smaller  nervous  system  which  is  thus  operative,  but  the 
higher  or  lower  nervous  energy.  Dr.  Carpenter,  in  his  large 
work  on  Comparative  Physiology,  gives  every  kind  of  proof 
and  illustration.  Mr.  Newport’s  papers  on  the  Temperature 
and  Respiration  of  Insects,  published  in  the  Philosophical 
Transactions  for  1835  and  1837,  may  also  be  usefully  con- 


* See  for  illustrations,  an  excellent  paper  on  Respiration,  by  Dr. 
Sibson,  in  the  Transactions  of  the  Provincial  Medical  and  Surgical 
Assoeiati(>n,  vol.  xvii.,  1850. 


RESPIEATION  AND  ANIMAL  HEAT. 


93 


suited.  ‘^Animal  heat/’  in  the  popular  use  of  the  phrase, 
is  not  animal  heat  after  all.  What  is  so  termed  by  the 
physiologists  is  as  purely  mineral”  heat  as  any  that  radi- 
ates from  inanimate  fire  or  candle.  Animal  heat,  properly 
so  called,  is  the  zeal  which  urges  the  creature  to  the  active 
exercise  of  its  powers.  There  could  not  be  a particle  in  the 
body  of  what  is  commonly  but  erroneously  so  designated,  if 
the  Divine  Life  did  not  already  warm  it  with  this,  the  true 
animal  heat.  That  which  the  mere  combustion  of  oxygen 
and  carbon  introduces  is  but  supplementary  and  contingent. 
Under  all  phenomena  lies  a profounder  cause  than  chemistry 
or  anatomy  can  point  out.  The  Divine  Life  everywhere 
takes  the  initiative ; the  apparent  causes  are  secondary,  and 
are  operative  only  as  resting  on  it  as  a substratum.  It 
should  be  noted,  too,  that  the  lower  we  descend  in  the  scale 
of  being,  the  more  do  these  apparent,  scientific  causes  seem 
disused.  While,  for  instance,  the  higher  animals  have  their 
blood  propelled  by  the  muscular  engine  we  call  the  heart, 
in  many  of  the  lower  kinds,  and  in  plants,  there  is  no  such 
engine;  the  circulation  goes  on  nevertheless.  Besides  the 
quasi-chemical  use  of  the  air  in  respiration,  there  is  a use  in 
the  mechanical  act  of  breathing  it.  There  is  no  life  where 
there  is  no  motion,  and  there  is  no  vital  motion  but  where 
Air  is  passing  to  and  fro,  or  indirectly  actuating.  The 
lungs  are  the  first  to  move  under  its  impulse;  the  heart 
beats  time  to  them ; the  brain  falls  as  often  as  we  inspire, 
and  rises  with  every  expiration.  In  a child  under  two  years 
old,  the  latter  may  be  felt  as  plainly  as  the  pulse.  Place 
your  hand  low  down  on  the  body,  and  there  too  is  found 
constant  and  consentaneous  movement  with  the  lungs. 
Respiration,  in  a word,  keeps  everything  on  the  move,  and 
as  soon  as  it  ceases,  comes  the  stagnation  of  death. 

49.  Respiration  does  more  yet  than  bring  in  oxygen  and 
carry  away  carbon,  and  subserve  the  maintenance  of  vital 


94 


THE  ATMOSPHERE  A SOURCE  OF  FOOD. 


warmth.  It  is  itself  a positive  feeder  of  the  hody,  with  good 
aliment  or  with  bad,  according  to  the  kind  of  atmosphere 
we  inhale.  The  air  is  no  mere  compound  of  oxygen,  nitro- 
gen, and  carbon,  as  such.  ‘Tt  is  a product  elaborated  from 
all  the  kingdoms  of  nature;  the  seasons  are  its  education;  it 
is  passed  through  the  fingers  of  every  herb  and  tree.  Who- 
ever looks  upon  it  as  one  universal  thing,  is  like  a dreamer 
playing  with  the  words  animal  kingdom,  vegetable  kingdom, 
and  so  forth,  and  forgetting  that  each  comprises  many  genera, 
innumerable  species,  and  individuals  many  times  innumera- 
ble. The  air  is  a cellarage  of  aerial  wines,  the  heaven  of 
the  spirits  of  the  plants  and  flowers,  which  are  safely  kept 
there  till  called  for  by  the  lungs  and  skin.  The  assumption 
that  the  oxygen  is  the  all,  is  ungrateful  for  the  inhabitant 
of  any  land  whose  fields  are  fresh  services  of  fragrance  from 
county  to  county  and  from  year  to  year.”  All  the  virtues 
of  the  ground  and  of  vegetation  are  in  the  atmosphere  by 
exhalation ; it  is  a kind  of  solution  of  some  of  everything 
that  the  world  contains,  and  from  it,  as  from  a fountain,  all 
come  into  the  lungs  and  circulation.  Not  only  does  man 
live  in  the  world,  but  the  world,  as  to  its  essences,  is  con- 
tained within  itself,  literally  as  well  as  correspondentially. 
Thus  is  our  assertion  not  a meaningless  one,  that  all  nature 
subsidizes  and  ministers  to  the  blood.  The  ruins  of  the  air, 
when  chemistry  has  pulverized  it,  may  be  no  more  than 
what  a brief  formula  of  Eoman  letters  will  express ; but  its 
influence  on  us,  while  unmolested,  comes  of  a compositeness 
that  no  art  can  emulate.  ‘^Change  of  air”  is  something 
more  to  the  sick  man  than  change  of  oxygen,  and  on  the 
other  side  of  the  picture  are  the  dark,  sad  mysteries  of  air- 
conveyed  infections,  and  the  endless  evils  produced  by  con- 
fined, ill-ventilated  abiding  places.  Dirty  air  is  the  source 
of  incomparably  greater  evils  than  dirty  water.  Many 
complaints  we  are  least  apt  to  attribute  to  it,  take  their  rise; 


THE  ATMOSPIIEEE  IN  EELATTON  TO  PLANTS.  95 


without  doubt,  in  shut-up  bed-rooms,  and  other  domestic 
stagnant  air-pools,  the  contents  of  which,  were  they  out  visi- 
ble, would  fill  us  with  horror  and  disgust.  The  body  is  not 
the  only  sufierer  from  impure  air.  Though  vice  and  im- 
pure air  may  be  found  in  company,  virtue  and  foul  air  are 
incompatible.  The  temper  of  a public  meeting  is  often  in- 
fluenced by  the  condition  of  the  air  which  it  is  breathing ; 
to  talk  of  a moral  atmosphere’’  is  not  altogether  a figure 
of  speech.  To  the  extreme  and  disgusting  foulness  of  the 
air  which  they  commonly  breathe  is,  probably,  to  be  re- 
ferred much  of  the  indulgence  of  the  poor  in  strong  drink, 
especially  ardent  spirits.  They  take  it  as  a necessity, 
claimed  by  nature  as  a kind  of  counterpoise  to  the  ofiensive 
and  pernicious  actions  of  bad  smells.  The  best  temperance 
agent  that  can  be  got  is  a clean  and  well  ventilated  home. 
No  training,  however  skilfully  conducted,  no  dieting  or  tee- 
totalism,  however  rigid  or  prolonged,  can  bring  a man  into 
good  condition,  either  of  body  or  mind,  so  long  as  he  is  con- 
demned to  breathe  an  impure  atmosphere.  Sanitary  asso- 
ciations do  well  in  teaching  that  the  life  is  the  blood,  and 
that  without  pure  air,  healthy  blood  is  but  a name. 

50.  The  particular  mode  in  which  the  air  ministers  to 
plant-\\iQ  is  found  in  the  history  of  the  growth  or  develop- 
ment of  the  vegetable  structure.  The  great  mass  of  the  ve- 
getable fabric  is  derived,  not  from  the  soil,  but  from  the  air 
which  bathes  the  leaves.  The  strictly  mineral  ” part  of  its 
food,  as  lime,  silica,  and  potash,  it  undoubtedly  sucks  from 
the  earth,  whence  the  value  of  manures,  and  the  difference 
produced  by  “good”  and  “bad”  soils,  but  it  is  at  the  cost 
of  the  carbonic  acid,  water,  and  ammonia  of  the  atmosphere, 
that  it  essentially  lives,  (p.  63.)  Much,  indeed,  of  what  it 
})roximately  procures  from  under  ground  is  virtually  atmo- 
spheric, because  previously  carried  thither  by  the  rain. 
Thousands  of  plants  have  no  connection  whatever  with  the 


96  PLANTS  UNCONNECTED  WITH  THE  EARTH. 


earth,  but  grow  upon  the  surface  of  other  plants.  Sucli  are 
the  beautiful  aerial  flowers  called  Orchidea?,  which  in  their 
wild  state,  live  from  first  to  last  on  the  trees  of  their  native 
forests,  and  demand  an  imitative  location  when  brought 
into  our  hot  houses  and  conservatories.  They  are  not  like 
the  misletoe,  parasites — thieves  of  the  substance  of  the  tree 
they  perch  upon,  but  simply  epiphytes  ’’ — bird-like  lodgers 
among  the  branches.  Dendrobium,  Epidendrum,  Dendroli- 
rion,  are  names  ingeniously  descrij)tive  of  tlreir  nature.  Es- 
sentially, without  doubt,  they  feed  as  terrestrial  plants  do — 
indebted  largely  to  the  various  decaying  organic  matters 
which  accumulate  round  about  them,  both  of  animal  origin 
and  vegetable.  Lifted,  however,  as  they  are,  so  far  above 
the  surface  of  the  earth,  they  show,  in  the  most  beautiful 
manner,  how  independently  of  direct  connection  with  it  ve- 
getable existence  may  be  maintained,  and  how  thoroughly 
at  home  it  may  be  in  the  atmosj^here.  Two  species  of  Or- 
chidese,  called  Air-plants,  find  in  it  their  entire  nourish- 
ment.* What  epiphytes  are  in  the  air,  Algse  are  in  the 
water,  drawing  from  it  their  chief  supplies ; for  their  roots, 
so  called,  are  little  more  than  organs  of  adhesion.  Not 
wholly  so,  since  many  show  a decided  preference  for  certain 
kinds  of  rocks,  and  for  the  branches  of  certain  other  Algse, 
seated  upon  which,  they  attain  higher  perfection.  Under 
the  influence  of  light,  the  leaves,  both  of  terrestrial  and 
aerial  plants,  become  the  seats  at  once  of  respiration  and  as- 
similation. If  leaves  be  not  developed,  as  in  the  cactus, 
tlieir  place  is  supplied  by  the  tender  green  skin  of  the  gene- 
ral surface,  which  is  then  so  modified  as  to  perform  the  fo- 


* The  trunks  and  branches  of  tlie  trees  in  tropical  Brazil,  Mr. 
Gardner  tells  us,  abound  not  only  with  Orchidcse,  but  with  Bromelia- 
ccae,  Tillandsias,  Ferns,  and  various  climbing  species  of  Begonia,  all 
of  course  dependent  upon  the  Atmosphere. 


PLANTS  AND  ANIMALS  OF  MUTUAL  SERVICE.  97 


liar  functions.  Carbon,  ammonia,  and  water  are  taken  up, 
and  oxygen  is  set  free.  Hence  the  leaves  are  well  styled  the 
‘^lungs’’  of  plants;  the  lungs,  for  their  part,  being  animal 
trees  clothed  with  innumerable  foliage.  The  leafless  plants 
may  be  compared  with  the  animals  whose  respiration  is 
wholly  cutaneous.  To  enable  respiration  to  take  place,  the 
cuticle  of  every  leaf  is  pierced  with  innumerable  pores  well 
called  by  the  vegetable  anatomist,  sto7nates,  since  mouths 
they  are,  both  in  form  and  office.  The  most  ordinary  mi- 
croscope will  bring  them  into  view,  and  show  a wonderful 
variety  in  their  figure. 

51.  Absorbing  carbon,  and  liberating  oxygen,  which  is  the 
reverse  of  the  animal  process  of  respiration,  plants  are  the 
great  purifiers  of  the  atmosphere  as  regards  animals.  The 
only  exception  to  their  use  in  this  respect  occurs  in  the 
fungi — plants  which,  unlike  the  purifying  tribes,  are  never 
of  a green  color.  What  animal  respiration  exhales,  vegeta- 
ble respiration  consumes,  and  vice  versa.  There  is,  however, 
always  some  small  amount  of  carbonic  acid  in  the  course  of 
disengagement  from  plants,  especially  at  night,  when  also 
they  absorb  oxygen.  On  this  is  founded  the  popular  notion, 
so  immensely  exaggerated,  that  plants  kept  in  a bed-room 
are  injurious  to  the  sleeper.  Plants,  by  their  assimilation, 
purify  the  air  much  more  than  by  their  respiration  they 
vitiate  it.  They  are  breathers  at  once  for  their  own  interests, 
and  for  those  of  animals.  Plants  live  by  animals,  and 
animals  by  plants.  The  girdling  and  encircling  air,  their 
common  property,  is  that  which  truly  makes  the  whole 
world  kin.  ‘‘The  carbonic  acid  with  which  our  breathing 
fills  the  air,  to-morrow  will  be  spreading  north  and  south, 
and  striving  to  make  the  tour  of  the  world.  The  date  trees 
that  grow  round  the  fountains  of  the  Nile  will  drink  it  in  by 
their  leaves;  the  cedars  of  Lebanon  will  take  of  it  to  add 
to  their  stature;  the  cocoa-nuts  of  Tahiti  will  grow  richer  on 
9 E 


98 


TREES  AND  PLANTS  IN  CEMETERIES. 


it;  the  lotus  plants  will  change  it  into  flowers.  Contrari- 
wise, the  oxygen  we  are  taking  in  was  distilled  for  us,  some 
little  time  ago,  by  the  magnolias  of  the  Susquehanna,  and 
the  great  trees  that  skirt  the  Orinoco  and  the  Amazon.  The 
rhododendrons  of  the  Himalayahs  contribute  to  it,  the  roses 
and  myrtles  of  Cashmere,  the  cinnamon  and  the  clove  trees 
of  the  Spice  islands.”  In  recognizing  this  fine  use  of  plants 
in  the  economy  of  the  world,  we  must  be  careful  not  to  over- 
estimate it.  The  primary  use  of  plants  is  to  supply  food;  the 
purification  of  the  air  is  but  a subordinate  use.  For  every 
kindness  they  do  to  the  lungs  of  animals  there  are  a thousand 
done  to  their  stomachs. 

52.  In  the  fact  that  vegetation  purifies  the  air  by  absorbing 
from  it  what  is  deleterious,  resides  a capital  argument  against 
intra-mural  interments.  There  cannot  be  a doubt  that  the 
beautiful,  time-honored,  and  world-wide  practice  of  shelter- 
ing graves  with  trees,  and  adorning  them  with  flowers,  is 
attended  by  valuable  sanitary  results,  such  as  are  wholly 
precluded  when  burials  are  made  amid  streets  and  houses. 
While  the  sight  of  evergreen  trees,  and  of  flowers  in  their 
season,  soothes  and  consoles  the  mind,  by  virtue  of  their 
associations  and  emblematic  teachings,  the  atmosphere  is 
improved  and  renovated.  So  true  it  is  that  whatever  is 
practically  wise  is  always  in  keeping  with  what  is  poetically 
beautiful,  and  an  exemplification  of  it.  Many  of  the  trees 
which  poetical  intuition  has  pronounced  appropriate  to  the 
side  of  the  sepulchre,  by  reason  of  their  evergreen  or  other 
symbolical  characters,  are  precisely  such  as  scientific  design 
would  approve.  Witness  the  arbor-vita3,  the  Oriental  cypress, 
and  certain  kinds  of  coniferse;  all  of  them  more  or  less  narrow 
and  conical  in  form,  neither  covering  a large  space  with 
their  branches,  nor  casting  too  much  shade  when  the  sun 
shines,  and  freely  admitting  the  air  and  light.  The  beauty 
of  the  cypress-planted  cemeteries  of  the  Turks  is  well  known. 


WAVING  BOUGHS  BETTER  THAN  MARBLE. 


99 


At  Constantinople  the  chief  promenade  for  Europeans  is  the 
cemetery  of  Pera,  delightfully  placed  on  a hill-side,  and 
abounding  with  this  handsome  tree.  “At  Scutari,’’  Miss 
Pardoe  tells  us,  “preferred  by  the  Turks  to  all  other  burial- 
places,  because  of  certain  comfortable  superstitions  connected 
with  it,  a forest  of  the  finest  cypress  extends  over  an  im- 
mense space,  clothing  hill  and  valley,  and  seen  far  ofi*  at 
sea, — an  object  at  once  striking  and  magnificent.”  In  the 
cemetery  appropriated  to  the  Armenians,  instead  of  the 
cypress,  the  Acacia  is  the  prevailing  tree.  Marble  is  good, 
but  waving  boughs  are  better.  It  will  be  one  of  the  most 
certain  indications  of  progress  in  real,  practical  science, 
when  town  burial-grounds  shall  be  abolished  for  the  sake  of 
rural  cemeteries  like  gardens.  Wherever  such  have  been 
formed,  they  have  been  regarded  with  satisfaction,  and  their 
general  establishment  would  unquestionably  lead  to  a 
marked  diminution  of  average  mortality,  by  removing  a 
deadly  evil. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


MOTION  rilE  UNI  VERSA!  SIGN  OE  II FE, 

53.  Keviewing  these  various  and  wonderful  procevsses, 
we  cannot  fail  to  observe  how,  in  its  every  phase  and  expres- 
sion, the  great  sign  and  certificate  of  life  is  Motion.  Use- 
fully, then,  may  we  pause  upon  the  consideration  of  it  as  a 
kind  of  summary  and  continent  of  vital  phenomena.  No- 
thing exists  independently  of  motion  as  its  cause;  by  reason, 
likewise,  of  motion,  all  things  hold  together  and  preserve 
their  form.  “Passive  life,”  sometimes  spoken  of,  is  a con- 
tradiction in  terms ; certain  states  of  being  may  be  relatively 
passive,  but  there  is  no  such  thing  as  absolute  passivity.  In 
no  case  a state  ijpso  facto,  passivity  is  everywhere  an  incident 
of  motion,  consequently  to  be  referred  to  motion,  and  to  be 
explained  by  motion.  Doubtless  there  is  great  diversity  in 
the  degree  and  amount  of  motion;  also  in  its  manifestation 
to  the  eye.  We  must  not  confound  it  with  moving  about 
Motion,  ordinarily  so  called,  implying  visible  change  of 
place  and  position,  and  furnishing  us  with  ideas  of  time, 
does  not  comprise  the  All  of  motion.  There  is  motion  which 
no  eye  can  perceive,  motion  which  we  are  made  aware  of 
only  by  witnessing  its  results.  Of  this  kind,  indeed,  is  the 
chief  part;  the  most  wonderful  and  eificient  movements  in 
the  world  are  those  which  proceed  in  secrecy  and  silence.* 


* Robert  Boyle  has  an  essay,  well  known  to  the  curious,  “On  the 
great  eHects  of  Languid  and  Unheeded  Motion.’^  See  in  particular, 
chapters  viii.  and  ix. 

TOO 


ANIMAL  MOTION. 


101 


The  feebler  and  briefer  the  exhibition  of  motion,  especially 
the  latter,  the  lower  is  the  expression  of  life ; the  more  ener- 
getic and  continuous  it  is,  the  higher  is  the  life — so  that  apart 
from  structure,  motion  is  a criterion  of  vital  excellence,  of 
course  under  the  reservation  that  the  quality  of  life  depends 
primarily  and  essentially  upon  its  End ; else  would  the  sea 
be  more  living  than  a plant;  and  a watch,  or  other  piece  of 
self-acting  mechanism,  commend  itself  as  of  nobler  nature 
than  many  animals.  Inanimate  as  it  is,  the  watch,  by  rea- 
son of  these  relations,  excites  agreeable  ideas  of  life,  at  least 
in  the  minds  of  the  intelligent;  while  by  the  child  and  the 
savage,  unacquainted  with  its  construction,  it  is  unhesita- 
tingly pronounced  “alive!”  Experience  rectifies  the  error, 
but  vindicates  the  principle  upon  which  the  mistaken  judg- 
ment was  entertained. 

54.  Animals,  as  holding  the  highest  offices  in  the  economy 
of  creation,  therefore  the  noblest  forms,  and  the  highest 
degrees  of  life,  present  in  their  various  history  the  completest 
examples  of  vital  motion.  Their  movements  are  both  in- 
ternal and  external.  The  great  internal  movement  is  the 
circulation  of  the  blood,  and  its  familiar  token,  the  beating 
of  the  heart.  This  is  the  circumstance  on  which  the  very 
name  of  Life  is  founded;  its  proximate  root,  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  lyhban,  “to  live,”  being  ultimately  assignable  to  the 
Arabic  lub,  the  heart,  or  the  congenerous  Hebrew  name  for 
that  organ,  leb.  Literally,  therefore,  “life”  means  “the 
heart;”  a fact  beautifully  in  unison  with  the  great  funda- 
mental truth,  alike  of  religion  and  philosophy,  that  Life  is 
Love.  It  is  for  etymologists  to  determine  how  far  the  law 
of  transposition  of  letters  may  or  may  not  show  “lub”  and 
“life”  in  the  Greek  word  (fcX-eco^  “T  love.”  The  ancient 
Egyptians  used  a heart,  placed  in  the  midst  of  a censer  of 
flame,  for  the  hieroglyph  of  heaven,  the  source  to  the  world, 
as  the  heart  is  to  the  body,  of  all  activity  and  life.  Nothing 
0 


102 


MOTION  IN  PJ.ANTS. 


is  easier  than  to  verify  that  the  life  of  the  body  consists  in 
its  internal  movements.  How  painful  to  sit  perfectly  still, 
even  for  a few  minutes,  as  when  having  one’s  likeness  taken 
by  photography!  The  performers  in  tableaux  vivans  and 
poses  plastiques  find  that  to  play  at  statues  is  the  hardest 
trial  of  human  nature.  Dependent  on  the  circulation,  and 
less  admired  only  because  of  its  deep  privacy,  is  that  won- 
derful and  incessant  flux  of  the  ultimate  atoms  of  the  body 
which  has  been  described  above,  and  which  led  the  genius 
of  Cuvier  to  compare  it  to  a whirlpool,  an  intense  and  un- 
ceasing stream,  into  which  new  matter  is  for  ever  flowing, 
and  from  which  the  old  is  as  steadily  moving  out. 

55.  External  movement  culminates  in  the  grand  preroga- 
tive of  locomotion,  the  highest  terrene  presentation  of  the 
great  omnipresent  law  of  Attraction, — the  law  which,  under 
the  formula  and  name  of  chemical  affinity,  brings  together 
the  atoms  of  the  pebble;  and  which,  at  the  other  extreme 
of  creation,  under  the  formula  and  name  of  Love,  impels  all 
creatures  towards  what  they  have  need  of  or  desire.  Where 
there  is  the  greatest  capacity  for  locomotion,  there  also  is 
Ingenuity  at  its  maximum.  ’bhe  animals  which  possess 
least  of  the  constructive  instinct  are  the  slow-paced  reptiles  * 
the  expertest  artisans  in  the  world,  are  the  birds  and  flying 
insects — man,  of  course,  excepted,  who  has  more  capacity 
than  either;  not,  indeed,  of  the  same  nature,  nor  corporeal 
at  all,  but  derived  from  the  very  instruments  which  prove 
his  ingenuity  also  the  highest,  his  railways  and  his  ships. 

56.  As  in  the  animal  kingdom,  so  in  the  vegetable.  Plants, 
fpiicsccnt  as  they  appear,  depend  for  their  existence  on  the 
motion  of  the  juices  contained  within  their  substance;  the 
force  witli  which  the  sap  flows  onwards  when  the  plant  is  in 
full  vigor,  is  like  tlie  rusli  of  a little  river;  even  in  winter, 
wlicn  visii)lc  vitality  is  suspended,  motion  is  still  going  on, 
though  languidly;  the  process  of  development  is  never 


MOTION  IN  PLANTS. 


103 


entirely  arrested;  in  the  season  of  deepest  torpidity,  a slight 
enlargement  of  the  buds,  in  preparation  for  the  spring,  is 
still  to  be  observed.  Were  we  endowed  with  eyesight  ade- 
quately fine,  and  were  the  integuments  and  tissues  of  plants 
made  transparent,  we  should  see  in  every  twig  and  leaf  of 
every  plant  the  most  energetic  and  persevering  activity;  as 
by  means  of  a glass  hive  we  may  watch  at  our  leisure  the 
working  of  its  indefatigable  little  townsfolk.  One  class  of 
internal  movements  in  plants  does  actually  allow  of  obser- 
vation, just  as  in  certain  reptiles,  as  the  frog,  it  is  possible 
to  observe  the  circulation  of  the  blood-corpuscles.  When  a 
small  portion  of  the  cuticle  of  the  Vallisneria  is  submitted 
to  a sufficient  magnifying  power,  in  the  interior  of  every  one 
of  its  delicate  cells  there  is  seen  a beautiful  swimming  pro- 
cession of  little  globules,  round  and  round,  sometimes  faster, 
sometimes  slower,  till  the  vitality  of  the  fragment  is  ex- 
hausted. A similar  motion  has  been  noticed  in  many  other 
plants,  terrestrial  as  well  as  aquatic,  and  probably  it  is 
general.  Even  the  external  movement  of  plants,  induced 
by  the  excitation  of  the  wind,  notwithstanding  its  purely 
extraneous  origin,  is  a highly  important  circumstance  of 
their  economy.  It  is  evident  that  the  boughs  of  trees  are 
so  arranged,  and  the  leaves  of  plants  in  general  so  distributed 
and  poised,  as  to  admit  of  the  swaying  and  fiuttering  which 
the  wind  promotes ; and  that  benefit  results  from  such  move- 
ment, corresponding,  as  it  does,  to  the  exercise  of  their  limbs 
by  animals,  it  seems  unreasonable  to  doubt.  How  different 
the  condition  of  the  captives  in  our  green-houses  and  conser- 
vatories, debarred  from  every  opportunity  of  movement, 
compared  with  that  of  the  glad,  free  trees,  waving  through- 
out the  year  in  the  breezes  of  the  open  country ! As  exercise 
gives  strength  and  solidity  to  the  animal  fabric,  so  do  the 
vegetable  denizens  of  the  fields  and  hills  wax  sturdy  through 
the  agitation  of  their  branches.  When  Horner  would  indicate 


104 


MOTIONS  OF  INORGANIC  NATURE. 


unusual  strength  and  toughness  in  Ins  heroes’  spear-shafts, 
lie  calls  them  diye/wTfisarj^^  ‘Svind-nurtured,”  or  ‘‘wind- 
hardened.”  “Pine-trees,”  says  tlie  prince  of  arborists,  “ in 
thick  woods,  where  the  liigh  winds  have  not  free  access  to 
shake  them,  grow  tall  and  slender,  but  not  strong;  while 
others,  placed  in  open  fields,  and  frecpiently  shaken  by 
strong  blasts,  have  not  only  thick  and  sturdy  stems,  but 
strike  deep  root,  and  raise  beautiful  and  spreading  branches.”* 
57.  Astronomy,  chemistry,  meteorology,  though  their  sub- 
jects belong  to  an  entirely  different  province  of  being,  find, 
like  physiology,  that  all  their  phenomena  commence  in  mo- 
tion. Not  only  has  it  been  placed  beyond  a doubt  that  the 
group  of  worlds  which  includes  our  own  is  advancing 
through  the  heavens,  but  it  has  been  determined  in  what 
direction  it  moves,  and  within  certain  limits,  what  is  the 
velocity  of  its  motion.  If  true  of  one  system  of  sun  and 
planets,  it  must  be  true  of  all.  Every  star  that  w^  espy  is 
unquestionably  rolling  onwards,  and  carrying  with  it  the 
spheres  to  which  it  is  the  local  orb  of  day,  the  immeasurable 
altitude  alone  preventing  the  eye  from  pursuing;  as  Avhen 
from  the  brow  of  a lofty  cliff  by  the  sea  we  discern  far-dis- 
tant ships  that  we  know  by  their  spread  canvas  to  be  sailing, 
but  which  the  extreme  remoteness  make  appear  to  be  at 
anchor.  “If  we  imagine,”  says  Humboldt,  “as  in  a vision 
of  the  fancy,  the  acuteness  of  our  senses  preternaturally 
sharpened,  even  to  the  extreme  limits  of  telescopic  vision, 
and  incidents  wliich  are  separated  by  vast  intervals  of  time, 
compressed  into  a day,  or  an  hour,  ever3dhing  like  rest  in 
special  existence  will  forthwith  disappear.  We  shall  find 
the  innumerable  hosts  of  the  fixed  stars  cornmoved  in  groups 
in  different  directions;  nebula)  drawing  hither  and  thither, 


I 

oi 


* Evelyn.  Sylva,  Book  2d,  chap.  8. 


MOTIONS  OF  INORGANIC  NATURE. 


105 


like  cosmic  clouds ; the  milky-way  breaking  up  in  particular 
parts,  and  its  veil  rent;  motion  in  every  part  of  the  vault 
of  heaven.’’  It  is  the  motion  of  our  own  little  planet  which 
chiefly  adorns  the  sky  with  its  varied  splendors,  as  sunrise 
and  sunset,  and  the  shining  and  stately  march  of  the  con- 
stellations. Of  the  agitation  of  its  enveloping  atmosphere 
come  the  winds  for  health  of  body,  and  the  magnificent  sce- 
nery of  cloud-land  for  delight  of  soul;  the  rain,  the  tem- 
pest, the  Aurora,  meteors,  and  those  strange  “ fiery  tears  of 
the  sky”  which  we  term  falling  stars,  announce  over  again 
that  the  realms  of  aerial  space,  all  still  and  passive  as  they 
seem,  are  yet  realms  of  unresting  life.  The  very  substance 
of  the  earth  is  ever-moving;  the  interior  is  incessantly  in- 
ducing changes  upon  the  exterior ; waves  of  motion  are  con- 
tinually'passing  through,  indicated  by  the  sinking  of  the 
land  in  some  parts  of  the  globe,  and  its  rising  in  others,  so 
that  old  beaches  are  left  inland,  and  old  high-water  marks 
sunk  far  out  at  sea;  hot  springs,  volcanoes,  earthquakes, 
attest  more  vehemently  still  what  agitation  there  is  below. 
“ Could  we  obtain  daily  news  of  the  state  of  the  whole  of  the 
earth’s  crust,”  continues  the  author  of  Kosmos,  we  should 
in  all  probability  become  convinced  that  some  point  or  other 
of  its  surface  is  constantly  shaken.”  Yet  all  these  greater 
movements  of  the  earth’s  substance  are  but  stupendous 
analogues  of  movements  as  incessantly  going  on  among  its 
elements — visible,  acknowledged  movements.  What  life  is 
there  in  crystallization ! What  energy  in  combustion ! What 
vivacity  in  effervescence!  True,  some  of  them  are  of  brief 
duration,  if  we  look  only  at  a particular  scene  of  their  dis- 
play; but  taking  the  total  of  the  world,  they  are  unremit- 
ting. Even  in  a given  spot,  they  may  be  indefinitely  pro- 
longed, like  the  ever-burning  fire  of  the  Vestal  Virgins,  pro- 
vide<l  sufficient  supply  of  their  needful  fuel  be  kept  up. 
Aniuul  movement  itself  could  not  be  continued  were  sup- 


106  MOTION,  A FIRST  PRINCIPLE  OF  BEAUTY. 

plies  of  wliat  it  depends  on  to  be  withheld.  Collectively, 
these  movements  express,  as  we  have  before  styled  it,  tlie 
Life  of  inorganic  nature.  Under  the  imjiulse  of  the  sustain- 
ing and  influencing  energy  of  the  Creator,  every  atom  of 
matter  is  full  of  moving  life;  the  history  of  every  particle 
is  a history  of  change,  and  that  of  the  world  an  ever-begin- 
ning, never-concluding  metamorphosis. 

58.  The  moving  of  ivater  is  peculiarly  like  life.  Hence  the 
continual  application  to  streams  and  fountains,  by  elegant 
minds,  of  the  terms  which  pertain  primarily  to  their  own 
nature.  The  basins  at  the  Crystal  Palace,  it  is  announced, 
are  to  be  alive  with  fountains  and  jets;’’  the  river  here, 
says  the  author  of  Coningsby,  was  clear  but  for  the  dark  sky 
it  reflected,  narrow  and  winding,  hut  full  of  life^  Corinne’s 
delight  was  in  “the  fount  of  Trevi,  whose  abundant  cascade 
falls  in  the  centre  of  Eonie,  and  seems  the  life  of  that  tran- 
quil scene.”  Virgil  has  flumine  vivo,  “in  the  living  cur- 
rent;” Ovid,  e vivis  fontihus,  “from  the  gushing  fountains.” 
Oersted  devotes  an  entire  chapter  to  the  Life  of  the  Fountain, 
a chapter  as  elegant  in  narrative  as  the  principle  arrived  at 
is  important.  He  shows  us  that  while  motion  is  the  begin- 
ning of  life,  it  is  likewise  the  first  principle  of  Beauty. 
“What  a rich  variety  of  inward  activity  we  beheld,”  he 
concludes,  “in  that  fountain!  Were  this  to  be  separated 
from  it,  all  besides  would  leave  but  a faint  impression.  That 
which  is  full  of  life  arouses  it  in  ourselves,  and  this  feeling 
of  life  appertains  to  the  complete  enjoyment  of  beauty.  An 
attempt  to  represent  it  in  painting,  if  it  were  executed  in  a 
masterly  manner,  might  in  some  degree  please  the  eye;  but 
the  enjoyment  which  arises  from  the  peculiar  nature  of  the 
object  would  be  much  diminished,  because  motion,  lustre, 
and  the  play  of  light  can  never  be  represented  in  a picture. 
I have  several  times  seen  pictures  of  fountains,  but  the  im  - 
pression they  produced  upon  me  was  poor.”  To  give  in 


THE  SEA  AND  THE  CLOUDS. 


107 


painting  a sufficient  idea  of  the  ocean,  to  paint  even  rain  oi 
falling  snow,  is  well  known  to  be  an  equally  fruitless  effort, 
while  nothing  is  easier  than  to  sketch  a still  expanse  of 
flooded  fields,  which,  for  the  same  reason,  are  unattractive 
and  uninteresting,  and  incapable  of  exciting  ideas  of  beauty. 
These,  as  so  lucidly  set  forth  by  the  accomplished  Dane,  we 
can  realize  only  when  movement  is  either  present  or  forcibly 
implied,  and  thus  only  where  the  idea  of  life  is  secretly 
placed  before  the  soul,  which  loves  it,  and  hungers  for  it, 
and  is  depressed  when  there  is  none  to  be  seen,  because  of 
its  own  innate,  burning  activity.  How  beautiful  the  waving 
of  the  trees,  and  the  quiver  of  the  leaves  before  the  wind  !* 
With  what  delight  do  we  watch  the  gliding  of  the  clouds 
across  the  sky,  the  heaving  of  the  sea. 

The  river  rushing  o’er  its  pebbled  bed. 

Why  are  we  never  tired  of  looking  upon  the  ocean?  From 
land-scenery,  however  charming,  after  a while,  the  eye  turns 
away,  deliberately  and  content;  the  Sea,  on  the  other  hand, 
holds  the  whole  soul  in  immortal  fascination.  The  meadows 
and  ferny  lanes,  even  the  woodland  glades  of  perfect  Spring, 
sheeted  with  the  wild  blue  hyacinth,  and  sparkling  with  the 
crimson  lychnis,  even  at  that  earlier  sweet  season,  when  the 
trees,  though  they  have  leaves  upon  them,  give  no  shade  to 
the  chaste  anemones,  we  can  quit  satisfied;  but  the  beach, 
though  it  offer  nothing  but  high-water  mark  of  withered 
wrack,  we  never  turn  away  from  without  reluctance.  As  in 
a glass  we  see  our  features  reflected,  so  in  the  movement  of 
the  waves,  and  their  sound,  we  recognize  an  image  of  our 


* How  largely  the  movement  of  trees  contributes  to  their  pictu- 
resque, may  be  seen  in  Gilpin,  who  indicates  more  than  once  the 
fulness,  as  well  as  the  nicety  of  his  aj3preciation  of  its  value.  Forest 
Scenery. 


108  MOTION  AND  REPOSE  COMPLEMENTARY. 

life.  So  with  the  movements,  though  silent,  of  the  cloiuls, 
as,  massively  dark  or  softly  brilliant,  their  swelling  moun- 
tains change,  unite,  separate,  and  unite  again,  unveiling  in- 
finite depths  of  calm,  sweet  azure,  or  if  it  be  sunset,  fields 
of  clear,  burning  brightness  that  seem  to  reach  into  heaven 
itself.  Looking  at  the  clouds  merely  as  aqueducts,  we  miss 
the  chief  part  of  their  beautiful  ministry,  which  is  to  fill 
the  sky  with  the  idea  of  Life.  Rhymesters  and  parlor  na- 
turalists would  have  us  believe  the  skies,  to  be  perfectly 
beautiful,  must  be  ‘‘  cloudless.’’  It  is  not  only  not  true,  but 
it  would  be  contrary  to  the  nature  of  things  for  it  to  be  true. 
The  skies  even  of  Italy  are  not  cloudless,  except  as  in  our 
own  country,  at  certain  periods,  and  derive  their  charm  from 
their  transparency  rather  than  from  cloudlessness.  Clouds 
are  to  the  heavens  what  human  beings  are  to  the  earth. 
They  dwell  in  them,  and  move  about  them,  various  in  their 
aspect  and  their  missions  as  men  and  women;  and  as  of  the 
latter  come  all  the  true  dignity  and  grace  of  earth,  so  of 
the  former  comes  every  splendor  that  glorifies  the  sky. 

59.  Things  even  which  are  incapable  of  visible  motion 
mainly  acquire  what  beauty  they  may  present  from  in  some 
way  referring  us  to  it.  We  are  so  pleased,  for  instance, 
with  the  undulating  outline  of  distant  hills,  because  they 
unroll  before  the  imagination  the  rising  and  falling  of  the 
waves,  and  thus  transport  us  into  the  very  presence  of  life’s 
grandest  emblem.  There  is  no  pleasure  derived  from  the 
view  of  a mere  flat  extended  plain,  unless  relieved  by  waving 
corn  or  the  movement  of  animals.  These  being  absent, 
everything  seems  to  have  subsided  into  stagnancy,  and  the 
pictured  idea  is  death  rather  than  life.  We  call  it,  without 
a libel,  ‘‘a  dead  level.”  Even  the  shadows  in  still  water, 
depending,  as  they  do,  on  the  most  exquisite  placidity  of  sur- 
face, are  no  exception,  for  they  seldom  so  powerfully  appeal 
as  when  the  objects  they  depict  are  gently  agitated  by  the 


KEPOSE  IN  EEFERENCE  TO  ART. 


109 


breeze.  Feeling  how  important  it  is  that  life  should  thus 
be  presented  to  the  mind  even  in  scenes  of  the  profoundest 
repose,  the  poets  rarely  delineate  such  without  introducing 
some  delicate  allusion  that  shall  suggest  it. 

Homines,  volucresqiie  ferasque 
Solverat  alta  quies : nullo  cum  murmure  sepes 
Immotseque  silent  frondes ; silet  humidus  aer ; 

Sidera  sola  micanL—{OYiT>,  Met.,  vii.  185-188.) 

^‘Men,  birds,  and  animals  lie  dissolved  in  deep  repose;  the  mur- 
mur of  the  woods  is  hushed ; the  leaves  are  motionless ; the  humid 
air  is  still ; the  stars  alone  twinkle 

Not  that  motion  is  sufficient  to  excite  ideas  of  beauty; 
everywhere  in  nature  there  must  be  a combination  of  two 
separate  ideas,  complementary  to  each  other,  before  we  can 
realize  satisfaction  in  the  beholding;  the  second,  in  the  pre- 
sent instance,  being  the  idea  of  Repose,  as  we  may  easily 
perceive  by  considering  the  movements  of  animals,  and 
more  particularly,  those  of  man.  Swimming,  flying,  walk- 
ing, are  graceful,  and  therefore  pleasing,  only  when  we 
gather  from  them  ideas  of  Rest,  such  as  are  conveyed  by 
that  aspect  of  ease  and  security,  resulting  from  a perfectly- 
felt  balance,  which  characterizes  them  when  unlaborious  and 
unaffected.  Attitudes,  on  the  same  principle,  which  com- 
mend themselves  as  peculiarly  beautiful  and  graceful, 
though  they  seem  to  depend  for  their  eflect  upon  the  exqui- 
site arrangement  of  the  body  and  limbs,  derive  the  half  of 
it  from  their  flowing,  motion-hinting  curves. 

60.  Repose  is  needful  not  only  to  physical  beauty;  it  be- 
longs as  largely  to  the  finest  attitudes  of  the  spiritual  life, 
and  is  the  state  in  which  the  imagination  is  most  exquisitely 
unfolded.  All  true  genius  recognizes  this.  Shakspere  would 
not  let  the  players  ‘Hear  a passion  to  tatters.”  He  directs 
thpm,  “in  the  very  torrent,  tempest,  and  as  I may  say, 
10 


110 


REPOSE  IN  REFERENCE  TO  ART. 


wliirlwind  of  your  passion,  you  must  acquire  and  beget  a 
temperance  that  Avill  give  it  smoothness.’’  ‘‘The  turmoil, 
tlie  battle,  the  tumult  of  the  Iliad  is  accompanied  by  the 
repose  of  studied  measure.  Amid  the  carnage  of  men  we 
see  the  gods  tranquil  spectators,  and  when  they  are  in  the 
conflict,  Achilles  rests.”  So  in  Art.  The  same  beautiful 
combination  of  action  and  repose  in  nature  which  reflects 
from  the  verses  of  the  poet,  is  the  foremost  quality  of  the 
best  efforts  of  the  painter  and  the  sculptor.  The  noblest 
and  loveliest  statues  are  those  whose  pure  white  marble  is 
consecrated  not  more  to  life’s  emotions  than  to  Repose. 


CHAPTER  VI. . 


DJEATM, 

61.  The  cessation  of  the  vital  activities  is  Death,  which, 
though  commonly  spoken  of  as  an  actual  existence,  is  simply 
another  name  for  discontinuance.  All  forms  recipient  of 
life  die  some  time.  Some  few  may  be  privileged  to  survive 
the  rest,  even  for  thousands  of  years,  as  happens  with  certain 
trees,  but  the  same  death  which  in  regard  to  the  children  of 
men,  while  it  surprises  many,  skips  not  one,  at  last  over- 
powers the  most  tenacious.  ‘‘Come  like  shadows,  so  de- 
part,’’ is  the  law  of  the  entire  material  creation,  in  fact,  as 
great  a law  as  that  it  lives.  For  death  is  no  accident  of 
nature,  neither  is  it  in  the  least  degree  punitive.  It  is  an 
essential  and  benevolent  part  of  the  very  idea  of  material 
existence,  bound  up  with  the  original  scheme  and  method 
of  creation  as  completely  as  gravitation  is.  Things  die,  not 
because  they  have  been  sentenced  to,  judicially,  the  sentence 
being  effectuated,  as  often  supposed,  by  a change  superin- 
duced upon  thei-r  original  constitution ; but  because  without 
death,  nature  could  not  endure.  Birth,  growth,  and  arriving 
at  maturity,  as  completely  imply  decay  and  death  as  the 
source  of  a river  implies  the  termination  of  it,  or  as  spring 
and  summer  imply  corn-fields  and  reaping.  Hence,  what- 
ever the  vigor  and  the  powers  of  repair  that  may  pertain  to 
any  given  structure,  whatever  resistance  it  may  offer  to  the 
shocks  of  Ages,  Time,  sooner  or  later,  dissolves  it;  careful, 
however,  to  renew  whatever  it  takes  away,  and  to  convert, 

111 


112  DEATH  IN  CONNECTION  WITH  THE  FALL. 


invariably,  every  end  into  a new  beginning.  Tliere  is  not  a 
grave  m the  whole  circuit  of  nature  that  is  not  at  the  same 
moment  a cradle. 

G2.  That  death  was  brought  into  the  world  by  Adam,  we 
by  no  means  intend  to  deny.  Nothing  is  more  true.  Let 
us  rightly  understand,  however,  what  kind  of  death  it  was. 
For  death  is  no  unitary  thing;  there  are  as  many  ways  of 
dying  as  of  living.  Death  commonly  so  called  it  certainly 
was  not.  Scripture,  the  supposed  authority  for  the  popular 
belief,  rarely  speaks  of  j^hysical  death.  It  uses  the  language 
of  the  material  world,  but  intends  spiritual  ideas.  Concern- 
ing itself  primarily  and  essentially  with  the  soul  of  man, 
what  it  has  to  say  about  his  body  is  but  casual.  Only  in 
purely  biographical  notices,  as  when  it  is  said  of  Joseph  that 
“he  died  an  hundred  and  ten  years  old,’’  and  in  some  few 
such  texts  as  “it  is  appointed  unto  all  men  once  to  die,”  is 
physical  death  ever  alluded  to,  or  even  compatible  with  a 
just  and  practical  interpretation.  “In  the  day  that  thou 
eatest  thereof  thou  shalt  surely  die,”  was  not  a threat  that 
corporeal  death  should  be  inflicted;  it  signifled  that,  break- 
ing the  commandment,  he  who  had  it  given  him,  should  lose 
the  high,  lovely  life  which  is  union  with  God,  and  sink  into 
irreligiousness,  which  is  infelicity  and  disquiet.  He  died  to 
the  true  life  of  the  spirit  the  moment  that  he  tasted;  but  as 
to  his  material  body,  he  continued  as  he  was  before.  “He 
begat  sons  and  daughters,  and  lived  nine  hundred  and  thirty 
years.”  Equally  unscriptural  and  groundless  is  the  notion 
that  physical  death  was  even  an  appendix  to  the  “punish- 
ment.” Adam  would  have  died  had  he  never  fallen,  and  so 
would  all  of  his  posterity,  though  none,  perhaps,  would  have 
died  of  disease.  Death  probably  would  have  resembled 
sinking  into  an  easy  and  gentle  slumber,  such  as  overtakes 
us  wlien  agreeably  fatigued;  it  would  have  been  that  eutha- 
nasia to  all  men  which  Augustus  Caesar  used  so  passionately 


TESTIMONY  OF  GEOLOGY. 


113 


to  desire,  and  which  is  so  beautifully  predicated  of  the 
Christian  in  a well-known  and  lovely  hymn: — 

So  fades  a summer  cloud  away, 

So  sinks  the  gale,  when  storms  are  o’er. 

So  gently  shuts  the  eye  of  day. 

So  dies  a wave  along  the  shore. 

If  the  Fall  bore  in  any  way  on  physical  death,  it  was  in 
leading  to  the  sensualities  which  often  hurry  it  on  with  pain ; 
and  to  the  violations  of  the  laws  of  peace  and  order  which 
make  so  much  of  it  unhappy  and  untimely.  It  is  absolutely 
needful  that  man  should  die  as  to  his  material  body,  in 
order  that  he  may  rise  into  his  eternal  dwelling.  He  has 
faculties  which  cannot  possibly  be  developed  here,  and  which 
can  only  expand  in  heaven,  or  under  purely  spiritual  con- 
ditions, so  that  it  is  only  by  dying  that  he  can  become  truly 
himself 

63.  What  Scripture  really  tells  us,  is  that  physical  death 
was  not  brought  into  the  world  by  Adam ; and  the  testimony 
of  the  inspired  volume  is  supported  by  the  incontestable 
evidence  of  science.  Geology  proves  that  the  world  had 
been  familiar  with  death  for  ages  before  mankind  was  placed 
upon  it;  every  fossil  in  the  museums  of  palseontology  is  a 
voucher  that  mortality  and  human  sin  neither  had  nor  pos- 
sibly could  have  the  least  connection ; to  suppose  otherwise, 
is  to  place  the  effect  before  the  cause.  It  is  a simple  evasion 
to  say,  in  order  to  reconcile  the  geological  teaching,  that  it 
was  only  man  who  became  subject  to  death  through  his 
moral  defection;  and  that  geology  does  not  object  to  this 
doctrine.  Geology  knows  but  of  a single  law  of  life  and 
death.*  Assuming,  however,  that  no  geological  discoveries 


* See  for  the  arguments  set  forth  by  upholders  of  the  notion  here 
repudiated,  the  Quarterly  Journal  of  Prophecy,  vol.  4,  p.  317.  -Inly, 
1852. 


ro 


114  DEATH  AND  PROCREATION  CONCURRENT. 


had  ever  been  made;  assuming  that  no  fossil  shell  or  skele- 
ton had  ever  been  dug  up,  and  that  the  pre-Adamic  condi- 
tion of  the  globe  were  still  a secret;  the  very  history  of  the 
creation  of  animals  and  plants,  in  the  gateway  of  the  Bible, 
is  sufficient  to  show  that  physical  death  is  proper  and  con- 
genital to  nature.  The  command  given  both  to  animals  and 
man  to  “be  fruitful  and  multiply,”  implies  the  removal  of 
successive  races  by  death ; otherwise  the  world  would  long 
since  have  been  overstocked ; plants,  for  their  ])art,  are  de- 
scribed as  created  “yielding  seed,”  which  carries  with  it  the 
same  inevitable  consequence.  The  produce  of  so  minute  a 
creature  as  a fly  would,  if  unchecked,  soon  darken  the  air, 
and  render  whole  regions  desolate;  the  number  of  seeds 
ripened  by  a single  poppy,  were  they  all  to  grow  and  be 
fruitful  in  their  turn,  would  in  a few  years  suffice  to  clothe 
a continent.  Of  course  it  is  easy  to  object,  as  done  by  a 
certain  class  of  reasoners,  that  this  might  have  been  cor- 
rected by  a supplementary  “miracle,”  but  to  evade  fair 
philosophical  deductions  by  inventing  and  ascribing  miracles 
where  none  are  spoken  of  and  none  are  wanted,  is  as  weak 
as  it  is  irreverent.  God  does  not  perform  his  work  so  im- 
perfectly or  short-sightedly  as  to  be  obliged  to  interpose  with 
miracles  to  set  it  right;  nor  are  we  at  liberty  to  speculate  on 
the  possibility  of  something  supernatural  in  order  to  escape 
our  difficulties,  when  to  industry  and  patience  nature  itself 
is  sufficient.  Death,  if  not  an  absolutely  necessary  and 
inalienable  counterpart  to  procreation,  or  being  fruitful  and 
multiplying;  is  at  least  a concomitant  of  every  scene  of  pro- 
creation that  the  world  contains,  whether  animal  or  vege- 
table: there  is  not  the  slightest  reason  to  suppose  that  the 
animals  and  plants  now  existing  are  dissimilar  to  the  first 
individuals  of  their  respective  species,  but  every  reason  to 
believe  tliat  they  resemble  in  all  points,  and  thus  in  the 
power  of  j)roercating  their  like:  hence  may  we  be  assured 


CAUSES  OF  DEATH. 


115 


that  with  the  creation  of  organized  beings  came  also  the 
limitation  of  their  life.  Mankind  could  be  no  exception  to 
the  rule,  as  Eve  was  created  before  the  Fall,  and  the  nuptial 
benediction  pronounced  upon  herself  and  consort. 

64.  The  supposition  that  physical  death  was  introduced 
by  human  sin,  requires  our  first  parents  to  have  been  invid- 
nerable,  No  moral  state,  however  exalted,  could  possibly 
exempt  a race  of  organized  beings  such  as  man,  however 
few  in  number,  and  though  inhabiting  the  fairest  and  safest 
of  material  worlds,  from  the  casual  injuries  of  which  organi- 
zation, from  its  very  delicacy,  is  susceptible.  The  same  fire 
by  which  Adam  unfallen,’’  must  be  supposed  able  to  have 
warmed  himself,  would  have  burned  him  had  he  approached 
too  near.  Had  he  fallen  from  a tree,  he  was  in  no  less  dan- 
ger of  a broken  limb  than  ourselves ; had  he  struck  his  foot 
against  a stone,  he  would  have  been  no  less  easily  bruised 
or  cut.  From  such  injuries,  he  would  probably  have  reco- 
vered with  an  ease  and  rapidity  which  our  present  viti- 
ated state  of  body  debars  us  from  conceiving,  though  faintly 
memorialized  in  the  ready  cure  of  the  child  and  the  tempe- 
rate man  compared  with  the  tedious  and  uncertain  one  of 
the  drunkard ; but  that  he  was  not  liable  to  them  cannot 
for  an  instant  be  supposed,  and  if  liable  to  them  at  all,  of 
course  he  was  susceptible  of  injuries  terrible  enough  to  kill. 
The  more  exquisite  the  capacity  for  life,  always  the  readier  is 
the  liability  to  injury,  as  the  eye,  which  holds  the  highest  office 
in  the  empire  of  sense,  is  the  organ  most  easily  hurt  and  lost. 

65.  Death  has  its  proximate  causes,  and  its  remote  causes. 
The  remote  causes  are  thousand-fold ; they  are  connected, 
directly  and  indirectly,  with  every  solid  and  fluid  in  the 
lody,  and  will  only  be  determined,  therefore,  when  patho- 
logy shall  have  become  a perfect  science.  Every  organ, 
and  membei,  and  tissue,  is  a possible  threshold  of  death, 
and  there  is  not  one  by  which  it  may  not  enter  unawares. 


116 


CAUSES  OF  DEATH. 


Oiir  life  contains  a thousand  springs, 

And  ends  if  one  start  wrong ; 

Strange  that  a harp  of  thousand  strings 
Should  keep  in  tune  so  long ! 

The  proximate  causes,  on  the  otlier  hand,  are  few,  and 
easily  understood,  being  resolvable  into  the  negation  of 
these  grand  fundamental  processes  of  life  which  have  been 
described  in  the  preceding  chapters.  Reduced  to  their 
smallest  denomination,  we  saw  that  the  processes  in  question 
are  the  Assimilation  of  food,  and  the  Respiration  of  atmo- 
spheric  air.  The  former  we  found  to  have  for  its  main  ob- 
ject, the  nourishment  of  the  blood,  the  organ  with  which 
that  fluid  is  pre-eminently  identified  being  the  heart  Re- 
spiration we  also  found  concerned  with  the  blood,  but  iden- 
tified peculiarly  with  the  kings.  To  facts,  accordingly,  con- 
nected with  one  or  other  of  these  two  organs,  death,  like  life, 
is  in  all  cases  proximately  referable.  We  die,  proximately, 
either  because  the  blood  has  lost  energy  and  volume,  or  be- 
cause atmospheric  air  is  insufficiently  admitted  to  it.  Po- 
pularly regarded,  death  consists  simply  in  loss  of  breath; 
and  founded  as  the  common  idea  is,  upon  external  appear- 
ances, it  is  not  improper  thus  to  speak  of  it.  It  always  has 
been,  and  always  will  be  right  to  speak  of  things  in  our 
common  converse  as  they  appear  to  the  senses.  We  should 
always  seek  to  think  with  the  philosopher — to  understand 
what  is  the  genuine  truth — but  in  our  ordinary  intercourse 
with  one  another  in  daily  life,  it  is  proper  and  expedient  to 
speak  of  things  as  they  seem;  to  say,  for  example,  of  the 
sun,  thaf  it  rises.’’  So  in  the  case  of  the  dying.  Here,  to 
aj)pearance,  the  breath  only  is  concerned.  The  breath,  ac- 
cordingly, do  we  alone  take  note  of,  and  further,  in  truth, 
we  need  not  look.  Wliatever  terrible  disease  may  be  ra- 
vaging the  frame;  whatever  paralysis  may  hold  the  organs 
of  sense  and  locomotion  in  deadly  torpor — if  there  be 


WHILE  THERE  IS  BREATH,  THERE  IS  LIFE.”  11/ 


Breathing,  we  know  that  all  is  not  over  yet.  “ While  there 
is  life,  there  is  hope,”  is  only  a paraphrase  of — while  there 
is  breath,  there  is  life.  The  primary  cause  of  death  may 
date  from  years  before ; it  may  baffle  all  physicians  and 
physiology  to  determine ; but  in  the  final  one  there  is  no 
enigma. 

’Tis  the  cessation  of  breath  ; 

Silent  and  motionless  we  lie, 

And  no  one  knoweth  more  than  this. 

I saw  our  little  Gertrude  die  ; 

She  left  off  breathing,  and  no  more 
I smooth’d  the  pillow  beneath  her  head. 

She  was  more  beautiful  than  before. 

Like  violets  faded  were  her  eyes. 

By  this  we  knew  she  was  dead. 

Through  the  open  window  looked  the  skies 
Into  the  chamber  where  she  lay. 

And  the  wind  was  like  the  sound  of  wings, 

As  if  angels  came  to  bear  her  away. 

Wedded  to  pictures  and  external  shows  of  things,  and 
inapt  to  rise  from  the  merely  symbolical  representations  to 
the  holy  presence  of  the  thing  signified.  Pagan  antiquity 
deemed  that  the  breath  was  the  very  life  itself.  So  per- 
suaded were  they  of  the  identity,  that  they  even  thought 
that  by  inhaling  the  last  sighs  of  their  dying  friends,  to 
suck  the  fleeting  spirit  into  their  own  bodies.  Many  beauth 
ful  allusions  to  this  occur  in  the  poets:  Anna,  lamenting 
over  Dido,  exclaims  as  she  expires,  “And  ah!  let  me  catch 
it  with  my  mouth,  if  there  be  yet  any  stray  breath  about 
her  lips  1”  A collection  of  the  references  may  be  seen  in 
Kirchman,  who,  in  his  little  book,  De  Funeribus  Romanorum^ 
devotes  a chapter  to  the  superstitions  this  people  connected 
with  the  breath  of  the  dying.  The  elegy  of  Bion  on  Adonis 
contains  one  of  such  far  higher  beauty  than  any  of  the  Koman 
poets  afibrd,  that  it  is  surprising  he  makes  no  mention  of  it, 


118  THE  BLOOD  THE  ESSENTIAL  SEAT  OF.  DEATH. 


Rouse  thee  a little,  Adonis,  and  again  tliis  last  time  kiss  me  I 
Kiss  me  just  so  far  as  there  is  life  in  thy  kiss;  till  from  tliy  heart 
thy  spirit  shall  have  ebbed  into  my  lips  and  my  soul,  and  I shall 
have  drained  thy  sweet  love-potion,  and  drunk  out  tliy  love ; and 
I will  treasure  this  kiss,  even  as  it  were  Adonis  himself/^ 

66.  While  legitimate  to  speak  of  death  as  “ceasing  to 
breathe,”  we  must  remember,  therefore,  that  breathlessness 
is  only  a part  of  the  idea  of  death.  Ordinarily  the  circula- 
tion goes  on  a little  longer,  requiring,  if  death  is  to  be  affi- 
liated on  a single  event,  that  it  be  referred  to  the  heart 
rather  than  to  the  lungs.  Slowly  and  sadly  does  the  blood 
consent  to  death;  like  the  tenderness  of  woman,  its  ministra- 
tion is  first  and  last  in  the  history  of  life;  that  which  was 
our  safety,  and  stronghold,  and  delight  in  our  noon-day 
vigor,  in  our  sunset  is  still  sedulous  and  faithful. 

O my  love ! my  wife ! 

Death,  that  hath  suck’d  the  honey  of  thy  breath. 

Upon  thy  beauty  yet  hath  had  no  power : 

Thou  art  not  conquer’d;  beauty’s  ensign  yet 
Is  crimson  in  thy  lips  and  in  thy  cheeks. 

And  death’s  pale  flag  is  not  advanced  there. 

Both  ideas  are  right  in  their  own  province  and  connection. 
It  is  true  that  the  heart  is  the  last  to  die ; it  is  true  that  the 
ceasing  to  breathe  is  death.  The  question  to  be  answered  is 
simply,  how  is  death  most  truly  signified,  and  in  what  for- 
mula of  words  is  it  most  accurately  described.  Here,  we 
have  already  seen,  there  is  no  mystery.  That  which  in 
death  arrests  the  attention  of  the  bystander,  and  tells  only 
too  surely  that  all  anxieties  and  cares  are  over,  is  the  ex- 
ternal, visible  circumstance,  the  ceasing  to  breathe,  not  the 
invisible,  secret  circumstance  of  the  blood  ceasing  to  move; 
and  thus,  though  the  latter  may  be  last  in  point  of  time, 
the  former  is  death  ostensibly;  and  this  is  sufficient  to  vin- 
dicate the  expressions  summed  up  in  “the  breath  of  life,” 
the  synonym  in  all  ages  of  vitality.  A true  idea  of  the 


CHOLEKA. 


119 


cause  of  death  will  of  course  include  both  circumstances ; 
whichever  occurs  first,  the  other  is  sure  to  follow  almost  im- 
mediately, just  as  they  are  themselves  inevitably  brought 
on,  though  less  rapidly  and  directly,  by  the  stoppage  of  any 
other  of  the  vital  functions. 

67.  Essentially,  then,  death  is  the  devitalizing  and  disor- 
ganizing of  the  Blood.  We  showed,  when  speaking  of  food, 
that  it  is  from  the  blood  that  every  tissue  and  organ  of  the 
body  is  constructed  and  repaired ; and  that  as  these  are  con- 
tinually wasting  away,  there  is  a proportionate  demand 
made  upon  the  fountain  from  which  alone  they  are  renew- 
able. It  is  obvious  that  if  the  needful  supply  of  food  for 
the  blood  be  withheld,  the  blood  itself  must  diminish  and 
lose  in  virtue.  It  becomes  too  much  reduced  to  circulate 
vigorously,  and  to  meet  the  demands  of  the  wasted  tissues, 
and  the  body  gradually  withers  away.  This  is  most  obvi- 
ously shown  in  the  lingering  and  miserable  death  induced 
by  starvation.  But  it  is  common  also  as  the  result  of  cer- 
tain diseases,  which  prevent  the  digestive  organs  from  assi- 
milating a sufficient  amount  of  food  to  maintain  the  required 
quantity  and  quality  of  the  vital  fluid.  To  deficiencies  of 
this  nature  may  be  referred  an  endless  variety  of  morbid 
affections,  one  disease  springing  from  another,  as  sickness 
from  drinking  of  poisoned  wells.  So  with  death  proximately 
connected  with  the  oxygenation  of  the  blood.  If  the  natural 
power  of  breathing  be  so  affected,  whether  by  disease  of  the 
respiratory  organs,  or  by  mechanical  hindrance,  as  to  pre- 
vent the  inspiration  of  air  in  sufficient  quantity  to  supply 
the  needful  oxygen,-  the  balance  of  action  between  the  heart 
and  lungs  is  upset,  and  death  ensues  as  surely  as  in 
the  former  case.  In  cholera,  according  to  one  theory  of 
this  direful  malady,  although  the  blcod  circulates  freely, 
and  the  patient  breathes  as  in  health;  from  some  unknown 
cause  connected  with  the  nervous  system,  the  blood  fails  to 


120  THE  NERVOUS  SYSTEM  IN  CONNECTION  WITH  DEATH. 

become  aerated.  The  discoloration  of  the  body  is  attributed 
to  its  super-carbonized  condition.*  Not  witlioiit  reason  then, 
has  the  blood  always  been  fixmous,  and  regarded  as  the  very 
seat  of  life.  Blood  and  the  life  have  in  all  ages  been  con- 
vertible terms,  and  justly.  In  Hades,  says  Homer,  ‘‘  the 
shades  can  neither  speak,  nor  recognize  the  living,  except 
they  first  drink  blood.’’  But  it  does  not  ap2)ear  ever  to 
have  been  used  as  a name  for  life.  This  has  been  the  prero- 
gative of  the  Air,  just  as  the  human  race,  though  born  of 
woman,  and  nourished  by  her,  is  proudly  called  Man.  The 
only  approach  to  such  use  is  in  such  phrases  as  to  “ shed 
blood,”  meaning  to  kill;  and  calling  death  by  the  name  of 
‘‘the  sw^ord.”  An  oath  with  the  ancient  Scythians  was  “by 
wind  and  sword,”  meaning  “by  life  and  death.”  The  dignity 
which  has  in  all  ages  been  connected  with  Bed,  as  a color, 
probably  owes  its  ascription,  in  part  at  least,  to  the  sanctity 
of  that  of  which  blood  is  the  chief  sign  and  emblem. 

68.  Violent  deaths  similarly  come  either  of  arrested  cir- 
culation, as  in  the  case  of  bleeding  to  death,  and  death  by 
lightning;  or  of  arrested  respiration,  as  in  strangulation, 
stifling,  and  suffocation  by  drowning,  or  by  inhaling  noxious 
vapors,  such  as  the  fumes  of  charcoal.  A violent  blow  on 
the  head,  affecting  the  brain  ; or  upon  the  stomach,  affecting 
the  ganglionic  centres,  although  unattended  by  fracture, 
kills  by  the  shock  to  the  nervous  system,  which  is  instanta- 
neously followed  by  stoppage  both  of  the  circulation  and 
the  breathing.  Both  of  these  great  functions  of  course 
require  that  the  nervous  system  shall  be  in  good  order,  and 

* Cholera,  say  others,  appears  to  kill  by  separating  the  serum  and 
the  crassamentum  of  the  blood.  The  former  runs  off  by  the  bowels ; 
the  latter  clogs  the  minute  vessels,  and  causes  the  discoloration. 
Assuming  this  to  be  the  true  theory,  it  is  a no  less  beautiful  illustra- 
tion that  death  is  induced  by  the  rupture  of  a complementary 
dualism. 


PROXIMATE  CAUSES  OE  DEATH. 


121 


thus,  in  tracing  death  to  its  profounder  causes,  we  find  that 
we  cannot  stop  till  in  the  presence  of  that  mighty  sphynx, 
the  Brain,  the  fountain  of  nervous  energy  to  the  whole 
body.  What  the  lungs  and  heart  are  to  the  blood,  the 
lungs  and  brain  are  to  the  nervous  fluid,  which  circulates 
through  the  nerves  as  the  blood  does  through  the  veins, 
coexistent  and  coextensive  with  it.  Any  irregularity  in  the 
stream,  however  it  may  be  caused,  is  attended  of  course  by 
analogous  evils  to  the  system.  Denied  by  some,  the  exist- 
ence of  this  fluid  admits  nevertheless  of  demonstration,  both 
from  analogy,  and  by  inductions  founded  on  experience.  It 
exists  and  acts  according  to  laws  similar  to  those  which 
regulate  the  existence  and  action  of  the  blood,  of  which  it 
may  be  regarded  as  a higher  and  more  exquisite  species. 

The  following  table  of  the  proximate  causes  of  death  is 
kindly  furnished  me  by  my  friend.  Dr.  Henry  Browne,  of 
the  Manchester  Koyal  School  of  Medicine.  It  will  be  seen 
that  he  at  once  recognizes  the  great  division  that  has  been 
adverted  to ; and  in  the  spirit  of  true  philosophy,  reconciles 
what  in  different  authors  appear  to  be  conflicting  views, 
though  essentially  the  same. 


By  Bichat  By  Watson  By  Alison 


to  the  to  to  the 


XAsthenia'^ 

(Strengthlessness) 


Death  is  traced  -j  Head 


(Nervous 

System) 


Coma 


(Senselessness) 


Lungs Apnoea — 

(Breathlessness) 


Bungs.f 


* The  term  asphyxia  is  often  misapplied  to  breathlessness.  Pro- 
perly, it  denotes  nothing  more  than  the  cessation  of  the  pulse, 

t See  on  the  proximate  causes  of  death,  and  its  phenomena,  as 


122  TENACITY  OF  LIFE  IN  THE  LOWER  ANIMALS. 


69.  Among  the  inferior  animals  death  is  referable  to 
analogous,  if  not  identical  hindrances  to  the  due  perform- 
ance of  the  vital  functions.  Deprivation  of  food  and  air, 
violent  shocks  to  the  nervous  system,  especially  where  a 
brain  is  present,  exposure  to  severe  cold,  are  among  the 
more  frequent  causes;  one  circumstance  or  another  being 
more  quickly  and  imminently  fatal,  according  to  the 
idiosyncracy  of  the  species.  As  we  travel  towards  the 
outermost  circles  of  animal  life,  conditions  which  would 
speedily  destroy  a human  being,  a quadruped,  or  a bird,  are 
borne,  however,  with  astonishing  indiflerence.  It  has  often 
been  observed  of  desperately  w^ouuded  soldiers,  who  have 
nevertheless  recovered,  that  while  in  most  cases  nothing  is  so 
soon  destroyed  as  human  life,  in  others  there  is  nothing 
harder  to  dislodge.  Applied  to  many  of  the  smaller  races 
of  the  animal  world  this  almost  becomes  a rule.  To  say 
nothing  of  those  extraordinary  animalcules  which,  accord- 
ing to  the  experiments  of  Spallanzani,*  may  be  dried  into 
mummies,  kept  indefinitely  in  that  state,  and  then  revived ; 
creatures  even  so  large  as  insectsf  are  in  many  cases  nearly 
proof  against  the  ordinary  agents  of  vital  overthrow^ 
Several  extraordinary  instances  of  this  may  be  read  in  that 
amusing  work  ‘‘Episodes  of  Insect  Life,”  vol.  ii.,  pp.  162- 


above  briefly  set  forth,  the  excellent  Outlines  of  Physiology  and 
Pathology  of  Dr.  Alison.  Edinburgh,  1833. 

* Tracts  upon  the  Nature  of  Animals,  vol.  1,  p.  xxxvi.,  &c. 

f Insects  are  commonly  cited  to  express  ideas  of  smallness.  Bui 
to  innumerable  creatures  they  are  what  whales  and  elephants  are  to 
ourselves.  The  animal  which  holds  the  middle  place  in  the  scale 
of  size,  reckoning  from  the  3fonas  crepusculum,  the  minutest  to  which 
our  microscopes  have  yet  reached,  is  the  common  house-fly.  That 
is,  there  are  as  many  degrees  of  size  between  the  house-fly  and  the 
Monas,  reckoning  downwards^  as,  reckoning  upwards,  there  are  be- 
tween the  house-fly  and  the  whale. 


CAUSES  OF  DEATH  IN  PLANTS. 


123 


167,  &c.  It  is  worthy  of  note  that  these  latter  creatures, 
like  reptiles,  can  better  endure  intense  heat  than  intense  cold, 
of  which  they  always  stand  in  dread.  Tenacity  of  life  is 
wonderfully  exhibited  also  in  the  tortoise  family,  and  in 
toads,  which  appear  to  be  capable  of  living  in  a state  of 
torpidity  for  very  considerable  periods.  The  stories  how- 
ever, so  common  in  newspapers,  of  their  leaping  out  of 
stones  when  suddenly  broken  in  two,  and  out  of  timber 
when  being  sawn,  seem  to  be  none  of  them  sufficiently 
authenticated.  Many  naturalists  positively  deny  that  it  ever 
occurs.  Experiments  made  by  Dr.  Buckland  led  him  to 
the  conclusion  that  when  totally  secluded  from  the  access 
of  atmospheric  air,  these  creatures  cannot  live  a year,  and 
that  they  cannot  survive  beyond  two  years  if  entirely  pre- 
vented from  obtaining  food. 

70.  Death  purely  from  old  age,  whether  in  man  or  the 
inferior  animals,  is  of  course  not  to  be  confounded  with  such 
as  comes  of  accident  or  disease.  Here  it  is  induced  by  the 
gradual  closing  up  of  delicate  vessels;  the  hardening  and 
ossification  of  tissues;  the  languid  and  imperfect  action  of 
important  organs.  These  changes  promote  others;  by  and 
bye  some  principal  part  becomes  affected,  and  lastly,  where 
present,  the  great  dualism  of  heart  and  lungs.  No  creature 
can  exist  without  these  changes  taking  place  in  it,  and 
superinducing,  sooner  or  later,  senility  and  dissolution. 
Agerasia  belongs  only  to  the  soul ; this  alone  lives  in  per- 
petuity of  youth. 

71.  In  the  Vegetable  Kingdom,  as  in  the  Animal,  death 
is  the  stoppage  of  the  process  which  maintains  life.  Starva- 
tion, drought,  exposure  to  intense  frost,  or  to  an  atmosphere 
infected  with  acids  and  other  obnoxious  chimney-products, 
wil]  arrest  the  functions  of  plant-life  as  effectually  as  the 
opposite  conditions  encourage  them.  Plants  suffer  the  more 
sorely  from  such  influences  through  their  inability  to  move 


124 


DEATH  IN  THE  INORGANIC  WORLD. 


away  from  the  place  of  danger.  To  compensate  this,  they 
are  endowed  with  a tenacity  of  life  far  exceeding  that  of 
animals,  or  at  least,  of  animals  of  equal  rank.  The  stricken 
quadruped  falls  never  to  rise  again;  the  stricken  plant  buds 
anew  in  calm  endurance.  ‘‘There  is  hope  of  a tree,  if  it  be 
cut  down,  that  it  will  sprout  again,  and  that  the  tender 
branch  of  it  will  not  cease.  Though  the  root  thereof  wax 
old  in  the  earth,  and  the  stock  thereof  die  in  the  ground ; — 
yet  through  the  scent  of  water  it  will  bud,  and  bring  forth 
boughs  like  a plant.” 

72.  In  the  mineral  world,  death  is  simply  Decomposition. 
All  bodies  resolve  into  their  elements  at  the  time  of  death ; 
but  whereas  in  plants  and  animals  this  occurs  only  as  the 
result  and  supplement  of  death,  in  minerals  death  and  de- 
composition are  the  same.  Life,  we  must  remember,  is 
expressed  in  the  mineral  simply  as  chemical  affinity; — no 
functions  take  place  in  it;  death  accordingly,  consists  simply 
in  the  setting  aside  of  that  affinity.  Some  stronger  affinity 
coming  into  operation  from  without,  one  or  more  of  the 
constituent  elements  is  drawn  away,  and  the  substance  ceases 
to  exist.  No  mere  melting,  or  crushing,  or  pulverizing,  or 
modelling  by  the  hands  of  Art,  affects  the  life  of  a mineral. 
Though  a piece  of  marble  be  ground  into  impalpable 
powder,  the  atoms  are  living  marble  still ; every  fragment  is 
still  animated  by  the  life  which  holds  together  its  component 
lime  and  carbonic  acid ; the  minutest  particle  as  completely 
represents  and  embodies  the  nature  of  the  original  mass  as 
a drop  of  spray  from  the  advancing  wave  does  that  of  the 
sea.  Such  at  least  is  it  to  the  eye  of  the  chemist  To  the 
unversed  in  his  magical  science,  demolition  is  annihilation, 
and  in  a limited  sense,  it  is  not  erroneous  thus  to  regard  it. 
Put  side  by  side,  the  compact  and  solid  stone  naturally 
speaks  more  of  life  than  the  mere  heap  of  scattering  dust; 
the  one  preserves  the  chiselled  writing  of  forty  centuries,  the 


1 


RUSKIN  ON  INORGANIC  LIFE. 


125 


other  disappears  with  the  first  curl  of  wind.  Hence  it  is 
that  in  Scripture,  dust  is  the  common  name  for  what  is 
unvitalized  or  dead;  while  Stone  or  Rock,  which  give  the 
highest  possible  idea  of  solidity  and  permanence,  characters 
the  very  opposite  to  those  of  dust,  are  the  equally  common 
appellations  of  the  Fountain  of  Life.  Mr.  Ruskin  explains 
these  beautiful  metaphors  on  the  principle  that  with  consoli- 
dation we  naturally  connect  the  idea  of  purity,  and  with 
disintegration  that  of  foulness.  ‘^The  purity  of  the  rock,’’ 
says  he,  ‘‘contrasted  with  the  foulness  of  dust  or  mould,  is 
expressed  by  the  epithet  ‘ living,’  very  singularly  given  to  the 
rock  in  almost  all  languages.”  Doubtless  there  is  a truth  in 
this,  for  life  and  purity,  both  in  the  physical  and  the  moral 
world,  are  correlative,  but  as  Mr.  Ruskin  himself  acknow- 
ledges in  the  next  sentence,  the  deeper  reason  is  the  coherence 
of  the  particles  in  the  stone,  and  their  utter  disunion  in  the 
case  of  the  dust.  The  page  is  well  worth  turning  to,  not 
merely  for  the  philosophic  views  on  the  general  subject  of 
inorganic  life,  but  for  the  admirable  commentary  on  the  text 
that  “pureness  is  made  to  us  so  desirable  because  expressive 
of  the  constant  presence  and  energizing  action  of  the  Deity 
in  matter,  through  which  all  things  live,  and  move,  and  have 
their  being;  and  that  foulness  is  painful  as  the  accompani- 
ment of  disorder  and  decay,  and  always  indicative  of  the 
withdrawal  of  Divine  support.”*  Neither  consolidation  nor 
purity  are  at  all  times  intended  in  this  remarkable  epithet. 
In  Virgil,  for  example: — 

Fronte  sub  adversa  scopulis  pendentibus  antrum; 

Intus  aquae  dulces,  vivoque  sedilia  saxo. 

Nympharum  domus. — {JEneid  i.  16-18.) 

“ Opposite  is  a cave,  the  retreat  of  the  wood-nymphs,  formed  by 
over-hanging  rocks;  inside  are  limpid  waters,  and  seats  of  living 
stone” 


11 


* Modern  Painters,  vol.  ii.,  pp.  73-75. 


126 


THE  PRIMITIVE  ELEMENTS. 


What  then  shall  be  the  meaning  here?  At  first  sight  there 
is  none.  But  when  we  bethink  ourselves  that  the  cool,  hu- 
mid atmosphere  of  such  sweet  natural  summer-liouses  and 
grottoes  as  the  poet  describes,  causes  every  surface  upon 
which  the  light  can  fall  to  clothe  itself  with  green  and  most 
delicate  moss,  in  an  instant  the  words  bcc  ome  animated  and 
picturesque,  we  hear  the  trickling  waters,  and  feel  ourselves 
sheltering  from  the  fervid  noonday  sun,  each  great  stone  a 
living  cushion  for  our  repose.  The  characteristic  of  true 
poetry  is,  that  by  single  words  thus  artlessly  introduced,  it 
awakens  all  the  most  beautiful  memories  and  associations 
of  the  heart. 

73.  Hitherto  we  have  spoken  of  inorganic  compounds. 
The  life  of  the  simple  substances,  the  fifty  or  sixty  primitive 
elements,  or  as-yet-undecompounded  bodies,  is  much  less 
precarious.  When,  under  chemical  agency,  a compound  is 
broken  up,  though  the  mass  ceases  to  be,  the  constituents 
are  in  no  wise  affected.  As  in  the  crowding  together  of  a 
multitude  of  men  for  some  great  social  or  political  object, 
though  it  is  the  assemblage  which  attracts  our  attention, 
every  member  of  it  has  an  interior,  unnoticed  life  of  his 
own,  so  is  it  with  the  several  elements  which  in  combination 
form  the  acid  or  the  salt.  The  compound  has  one  life,  the 
elements  have  another ; and  as  the  individuals  which  com- 
pose the  meeting  live  on,  though  the  meeting  itself  dissolves 
and  dies  with  the  conclusion  of  the  business  that  brought  it 
together,  so  do  the  simple  elements  of  destroyed  compounds ; 
they  separate,  not  to  perish,  but  to  enter  upon  new  activi- 
ties. Though  several  even  of  the  most  solid  of  the  simple 
substances  may,  under  the  influence  of  heat,  be  volatilized 
and  altogether  dissipated,  zinc  and  potassium  for  instance 
among  the  metals,  no  one  can  say  that  any  one  of  these 
substances  is  destructible  absolutely,  No  one  can  assert  that 
like  iodine  vaporized  and  condensed  in  a Florence  flask,  or 


THE  PRIMITIVE  ELEMENTS. 


127 


like  camphor  in  a glass  jar  (which  evaporates  only  to  de- 
scend again  in  glittering  frost-work),  they  do  not  consolidate 
afresh.  That  they  would  do  so  we  should  certainly  expect, 
though  it  is  quite  as  likely  that  when  so  attenuated,  new 
changes  and  decompositions  come  into  process,  causing  them 
to  return  to  the  eyes  of  men  in  the  form  of  some  other  pri- 
mitive element  f for,  as  we  saw  in  our  second  chapter,  it  is 
not  only  possible,  but  extremely  probable,  that  all  the  so- 
called  primitive  elements  are  but  different  presentations  of 
two  fundamental  ones,  their  respective  atoms  being  variously 
associated,  and  giving  us  oxygen,  gold,  silex,  &c.,  in  turn, 
according  to  the  nature  of  the  union.  For  anything  we  can 
tell,  the  identical  oxygen,  gold,  silex,  &c.,  of  the  primseval 
world,  are  still  in  being,  though  in  the  course  of  ages  they 
may  have  undergone  innumerable  vicissitudes.  For  aught 
we  know,  on  the  other  hand,  the  primaeval  gold,  silver,  &c., 
may  in  great  measure  have  perished,  and  as  many  repro- 
ductions have  occurred  in  the  secret  but  mighty  laboratory 
of  inorganic  nature,  as  there  have  been  procreations  of 
plants  and  animals  in  its  organic  realm. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


THE  VAJIIOUS  EEASES  OF  ElEE, 

74.  Though  death  is  the  universal  end,  nothing  is  more 
curiously  varied  than  the  Lease  of  existence.  The  present 
chapter  will  be  devoted  to  the  consideration  of  what  is  cer- 
tainly one  of  the  most  interesting  mysteries  in  the  economy 
of  life — the  question,  why  do  things  live  for  determinate 
periods  ? AVe  do  not  mean,  why  do  certain  individuals  die 
earlier  than  others  of  their  kind,  as  when  infants  and  young 
people  are  removed  by  death ; but  why  does  the  ordinary 
maximum  of  age  vary  so  immensely  in  regard  to  the  differ- 
ent species  of  things ; why  do  some  come  to  maturity  and 
perish  in  less  than  a year,  while  others  endure  for  three, 
four,  ten,  twenty,  a hundred,  even  for  thousands  of  years? 
For  that  the  duration  of  the  different  species  of  animals 
and  plants  is  thus  determinate,  is  certain ; every  one  of  them 
has  a lease  of  life  peculiar  to  itself,  though  true  that  in  the 
greater  part  the  exact  term  remains  yet  to  be  ascertained. 
Did  we  know  the  minute  history  of  horse  and  lion,  thrush 
and  pelican,  antelope  and  red-breast;  were  we  intimately 
acquainted  with  the  natural  constitution  of  each  brute  and 
bird,  the  duration  of  the  different  species  of  the  organized 
creation  would  unquestionably  allow  of  being  tabulated  as 
exactly  as  the  daily  rising  and  setting  of  the  sun.  We 
might  anticipate  such  a fixity  of  duration  from  the  deter- 
minate character  of  everything  else  which  concerns  living 
beings.  J^lvery  S2)eci('s  of  animal  and  plant  has  its  deter- 
128 


FIXED  LEASES  OF  LIFE  UNIVERSAL. 


129 


minate  form,  size,  and  organization ; the  period  of  gestation, 
though  it  differs  widely  in  the  aggregate  of  the  animal  king- 
dom, is  invariably  the  same  in  the  same  species ; similarly, 
the  growing  of  seeds,  which  is  vegetable  incubation,  and  the 
period  of  the  flowering  of  plants,  are  in  any  given  species 
uniformly  the  same ; it  is  but  reasonable  then  to  expect  that 
there  are  definite  leases  of  existence,  and  observation  proves 
the  opinion  to  be  well-founded.  Under  hostile  conditions, 
the  allotted  periods  of  duration  may  doubtless  be  greatly 
shortened,  as  experience  shows  us  every  day,  while  under 
favorable  ones  they  may  sometimes  be  surprisingly  extended. 
As  in  the  human  species,  mortality  cuts  down  myriads  before 
puberty,  while  now  and  then  we  are  called  to  wonder  at  an 
Old  Parr,  so  in  all  other  tribes  of  being,  though  the  unusual 
longevity  is  perhaps  never  so  great  in  proportion.  Making 
all  allowance  for  such  exceptions,  and  giving  everything  fair 
judgment,  it  still  comes  true  that  there  is  a fixed  lease  which 
the  mass  of  the  healthy  individuals  of  the  species  attain, 
and  beyond  which  the  life  of  the  mass  is  seldom  prolonged. 
Whether  all  or  any  living  things  at  present  reach,  even  in 
exceptional  cases,  the  full  term  of  life  originally  allotted  to 
their  race,  it  is  impossible  to  know — the  probability  would 
seem  that  few,  perhaps  none,  reach  their  intended  maximum, 
except  an  individual  here  and  there.  That  individuals  do 
sometimes  prodigiously  outlive  their  generation,  certainly 
does  not  seem  explicable  on  any  supposition  but  that  in  the 
longaevals  the  native  capacity  is  fully  realized.  We  ought 
perhaps  to  consider  enormous  ages  less  as  exceptions  to  the 
rule  than  as  revelations  of  the  lease  with  which  the  species 
is  potentially  gifted  by  the  Almighty.  Thus,  if  a certain 
percentage  of  mankind  live  to  a hundred  and  fifty,  and  a 
certain  percentage  of  horses  to  sixty,  are  not  these  ages  to 
be  esteemed  the  terms  respectively  prescribed  in  the  begin- 
ning? Very  little  is  yet  known  with  certainty  as  to  the 


130 


WIDELY  VARYING  LEASES  OF  LIFE. 


periods  of  life  ordinarily  attained.  Beyond  some  broad, 
general  peculiarities  in  the  larger  classes  of  living  things, 
and  tolerably  correct  statistics  respecting  the  animals  man 
is  most  familiar  with,  and  the  shortest  and  longest  lived 
plants,  scarcely  anything  precise  has  yet  been  arrived  at. 
The  literature  of  natural  history  is  almost  barren  upon  the 
subject;  physiologists  generally  dismiss  it  in  a paragraph. 
Buffon  is  the  most  copious  in  detached  observations;  the 
best  summary,  brief  though  it  be,  is  contained  perhaps  in 
the  admirable  and  celebrated  little  treatise  of  Hufeland.* 
The  recently  published  work  of  the  eminent  Parisian  savant 
Flourens,f  to  which  attention  has  been  so  largely  attracted 
in  intelligent  circles,  sets  forth  a masterly  doctrine  on  the 
relation  between  the  period  of  attaining  maturity  and  the 
duration  of  life,  amending  the  well-known  theory  of  Buffon, 
and  placing  it  on  a sound  physiological  basis ; but  in  other 
respects  it  has  little  really  new.  The  whole  subject  is  thus 
in  its  infancy.  The  profounder  and  more  interesting  ques- 
tion, or  part  of  the  question,  namely,  why  the  divine  lease 
of  life  varies  so  widely;  why,  for  example,  the  rabbit  is 
ordained  to  live  for  only  eight  years,  while  the  dog  is  al- 
lowed to  run  on  to  twenty-four ; why  the  wheat-plant  fruits 
and  dies  in  a few  months,  while  the  cedar  is  appointed  to 
watch  the  lapse  of  centuries ; this  appears  wholly  untouched, 
probably  from  its  involving  a spiritual  idea,  usually  the  last 
to  be  considered,  though  the  first  in  importance  and  illu- 
minating power.  That  there  is  a reason  for  the  various 
duration  of  life,  we  may  be  sure ; there  can  be  nothing  acci- 


* The  Art  of  Prolonging  Life,  excellently  edited,  in  one  volume, 
by  Erasmus  Wilson,  1853. 

f On  Human  Longevity,  and  the  amount  of  Life  upon  the  Globe. 
From  the  French,  by  Charles  Martel,  1855. 


NO  LEASES  IN  THE  MINERAL  KINGDOM. 


131 


dental  or  capricious  about  it ; what  that  reason  may  be,  is  a 
magnificent  problem  for  Christian  philosophy. 

75.  The  question  applies  of  course  only  to  organized 
beings,  at  least  in  its  fulness.  In  minerals,  for  reasons 
already  amply  stated,  duration  is  altogether  irregular  and 
indeterminate.  Ruled  wholly  by  contingencies,  no  scale  of 
existence  can  be  drawn  up  with  regard  either  to  simple  or 
to  compound  bodies.  It  cannot  be  said  that  the  diamond 
averages  so  many  years;  gold  so  many  more;  flint  so  many 
less.  The  same  with  any  composite  substance,  as  a lump  of 
marble,  or  a mass  of  common  salt;  it  lives  as  long  as  it  is 
not  assailed  by  the  particular  chemical  agencies  which  would 
decompose  it,  and  which  nothing  in  the  substance  itself  can 
repel:  it  is  liable  to  them  from  the  first  moment  of  its  exist- 
ence, and  may  thus  be  extinguished  in  an  hour,  or  enjoy  a 
kind  of  immortality,  conditional  on  its  seclusion  from 
them.  How  vast  the  antiquity  of  many  a little  pebble,  yet 
how  slender  the  tenure  of  its  existence,  which  a few  drops 
of  acid  would  overthrow  in  as  few  minutes!  It  is  to  be 
observed,  however,  that,  as  if  in  prefiguration  of  the  higher 
kingdoms  of  nature — a beautiful  subject,  hereafter  to  be 
illustrated  at  length — in  the  more  exquisite  and  delicate 
developments  of  the  mineral  world,  or  crystals,  there  are 
species  that  actually  seem  subject  to  a kind  of  natural  and 
organic  dissolution.  After  arriving  at  what  may  be  esteemed 
a kind  of  maturity,  certain  crystals  decompose,  (of  course 
under  the  influence  of  new  conditions  at  variance  with  those 
under  which  they  were  formed,)  and  decaying,  give  curious 
skeletons  of  what  they  were  in  the  bloom  of  their  existence. 
Such  relics  are  found  in  mines,  often  with  crystals  of  different 
composition  forming  amid  the  ruins  of  the  extinct  one,  just 
as  on  the  shoulders  of  an  ancient  oak  we  may  sometimes  see 
sapling  trees  of  other  species,  the  products  of  seeds  carried 
thither  by  some  bird  or  wafting  wind,  and  which  have  fat- 


132 


LEASE  OF  LIFE  IN  PLANTS. 


tened  on  its  decaying  heart.  Vary  the  text-word  to  suit  the 
especial  theme,  and  there  is  no  part  of  creation  to  which 
those  fine  philosophic  verses  of  Pope’s  will  not  apply : — 

See  dying  vegetables  life  sustain, 

And  life  dissolving,  vegetate  again; 

All  forms  that  perish,  other  forms  supply ; 

By  turns  we  catch  the  vital  breath,  and  die. 

There  is  no  essential  difference  between  the  violent  death  of 
the  crystal  in  the  laboratory  of  the  chemist,  and  the  quasi- 
natural in  the  mine;  only  in  the  latter  the  idea  of  deter- 
minate duration  seems  first  to  reveal  itself. 

76.  To  obtain  clear  and  comprehensive  ideas  respecting 
the  duration  of  life,  it  is  requisite  that  a tolerable  acquaint- 
ance should  be  formed  with  the  particular  circumstances 
and  phenomena  of  vital  action,  also  with  a fair  number  of 
the  species  of  things.  No  true  advance  can  be  made  in  any 
department  of  the  philosophy  of  nature  while  we  rest  in 
such  generalities  as  beasts,  birds,  and  fishes;  we  must  learn 
^eeies  minutely  and  accurately,  watching  them  from  season 
to  season,  and  from  year  to  year,  and  penetrating,  as  far  as 
possible,  into  their  anatomy.  None  are  better  for  this  pur- 
pose, or  so  good,  as  our  own  common  native  plants,  and 
wild  animals,  winged  and  wingless,  with  which  we  can  so 
readily  become  familiar,  and  ignorant  of  which  no  one  can 
pretend  to  the  name  of  naturalist.  With  such  knowledge 
in  hand,  the  further  steps  can  be  taken  pleasantly  and 
safely,  but  not  before.  We  shall  consider,  primarily,  the 
phenomena  connected  with  the  duration  of  life  in  the  Vege- 
table Kingdom,  seeing  that  this  is  essentially  the  outline  and 
prefigurernent  of  the  Animal,  and  thus  the  natural  starting- 
point  of  all  high  physiological  inquiry. 

77.  No  one  has  entered  Nature  through  its  “gate  Beauti- 
ful,” the  world  of  i)lants,  without  soon  discovering  that  the 


LONGEVITY  OF  TREES. 


133 


duration  of  life  is  here  of  three  general  denominations. 
Some  species  are  annual,  or  rather  semi-annual,  living  from 
spring  only  to  the  close  of  the  autumn  of  the  same  year ; 
others  are  biennial,  living  to  the  close  of  the  second  autumn, 
but  never  beyond  it;  the  greater  part  are  perennial,  or  com- 
petent to  live  for  a long  series  of  years.  Annuals  include 
many  of  the  commoner  garden  flowers  and  culinary  vege- 
tables, as  marigolds  and  lupines,  peas  and  beans,  which  re- 
quire accordingly  to  be  freshly  raised  from  seed  every  season : 
biennials  are  likewise  common  in  gardens : perennials  com- 
prise all  those  plants  which  form  the  staple  vegetation  of 
a country,  withering  to  a certain  extent  in  the  winter,  and 
even  dying  down  to  the  roots,  but  sprouting  afresh  with  the 
return  of  spring;  also  the  countless  varieties  of  trees  and 
shrubs,  whether  deciduous  or  ever-green.  The  perennials 
exhibit  as  great  diversity  in  lease  of  life  as  the  different 
species  of  animals.  Some  decay  in  as  few  as  four  or  five 
years;  others,  often  remarkable  for  their  odoriferous  and 
balsamic  qualities,  as  sage,  balm,  and  lavender,  endure  for 
ten  or  more;  next  come  the  larger  and  robuster  kinds  of 
shrubs,  as  rhododendrons  and  azaleas ; then  such  trees  as  are 
of  rapid  growth,  and  the  substance  of  which  is  soft,  as  the 
poplar  and  willow;  and  lastly,  those  mighty,  slow-growing, 
solid-wooded  pillars  of  the  forest,  as  the  cedar  and  oak,  at 
whose  feet  whole  nations  rise  and  fall.* 

“Non  hiemes  illam,  non  flabra,  neque  imbres 
Convellunt;  immota  manet,  multosque  per  annos 
Multa  virum  volvens  durando  secula  vincit 


* There  are  olive-trees  in  the  supposed  garden  of  Gethsemane 
which  have  been  estimated  at  two  thousand  years ; but  these  are 
probably  mere  descendants  of  those  which  are  connected  with  the 
narratives  of  the  Gospels,  put  forth  originally  as  suckers  from  their 
roots,  and  thus  to  be  regarded  rather  as  restorations  than  as  iden- 
tically the  same. 

12 


134 


DATA  FOR  ASCERTAINING  AGES. 


TIow  vast  are  the  periods  of  life  allotted  to  the  longa3val 
trees  may  be  judged  from  the  following  list  of  ages  known 
to  have  been  reached  by  patriarchs  of  the  respective 
kinds : — 


Cercis 

Wnlriiit. 

900 

Elm 

335 

Oriental  Plane .. 

. 1000 

years, 

u 

Ivy 

450  “ 

Lime 

. 1100 

u 

INIaple 

516 

Spruce 

. 1200 

(i 

Larch 

576 

Oak 

. 1500 

ii 

Orange 

630  '' 

Cedar 

. 2000 

u 

Cypress 

800  “ 

Schubert  i a 

. 3000 

(C  o 

Olive 

GO 

O 

O 

Yew 

. 3200 

(( 

Four  and  five  thousand  years  are  assigned  to  the  Taxodium 
and  the  Adansonia,  and  Von  Martins  describes  Locust-trees 
in  the  South  American  forests  which  he  believes  to  have 
begun  their  quasi-immortality  in  the  days  of  Homer. 
Whether  or  no,  it  may  safely  be  asserted  that  the  world 
possesses  at  this  moment  living  memorials  of  antiquity  at 
least  as  old  as  the  most  ancient  monuments  of  human  art. 
How  grand  and  solemn  is  even  the  thought  of  a tree  coeval 
with  the  pyramids  of  Egypt  and  the  sculptures  of  Nineveh, 
yet  still  putting  forth  leaves,  and  inviting  the  birds  to  come 
and  ‘^sing  among  the  branches!”  Well  might  the  old 
preacher  of  Alexandria  discern  in  a tree  the  terrestrial 
image  of  heavenly  truth. 

78.  The  way  in  which  the  ages  of  these  vegetable  Nestors 
have  been  ascertained  leaves  no  doubt  of  their  correctness. 
In  some  few  cases  the  data  have  been  furnished  by  historical 
records,  and  by  tradition;  but  the  botanical  archaeologist 
has  a resource  independent  of  either,  and  when  carefully 
uscid,  infallible.  The  whole  subject  of  the  signs  and  testi- 
monies of  particular  age  is  interesting,  and  deserves  to  be 
here  dealt  with,  but  unfortunately  scarcely  anything  is  yet 
known  about  it.  The  deficiency  is  much  to  be  regrettal, 


DATA  FOR  ASCERTAINING  AGES. 


135 


seeing  that  it  is  often  of  serious  importance  to  the  interests 
of  society  that  means  should  be  possessed  for  determining 
the  exact  period  of  a given  life.  The  most  important  of  all, 
the  data  whereby  the  age  of  one  of  our  own  species  may  be 
determined,  are  as  yet  altogether  undiscovered.  Though 
long  habits  of  social  intercourse  may  enable  us  to  guess 
pretty  nearly,  by  the  altered  form  of  the  features,  wrinkles 
where  once  was  smoothness,  changes  in  the  color  and  luxu- 
riance of  the  hair,  also  in  the  gait  and  general  physical 
exterior,  still  it  is  only  a guess;  we  cannot  be  sure  until  we 
have  consulted  the  register  or  the  family  Bible.  With  the 
lower  animals  it  is  a little  easier;  the  age  of  the  horse,  for 
instance,  to  about  eight  or  nine  years  old,  may  be  told  by 
its  teeth ; the  horns  of  certain  quadrupeds  similarly  announce 
their  ages  up  to  a given  epoch;  in  birds  the  age  may  some- 
times be  deduced  from  the  wear  and  altered  form  of  the 
bill;  in  the  whale  it  is  known  by  the  size  and  number  of  the 
laminae  of  whale-bone,’’  which  increase  yearly,  and  seem  to 
indicate  a maximum  of  three  or  four  hundred  years  to  this 
creature;  the  age  of  fishes  appears  to  be  marked  on  their 
scales,  as  seen  under  a microscope;  and  that  of  molluscous 
animals,  such  as  the  oyster,  in  the  strata  of  their  shells; 
still,  there  is  no  certain  and  connected  knowledge  in  refer- 
ence to  any  but  the  first-named,  and  even  this  applies  only 
to  the  youth  of  the  animal.  Of  all  the  forms  of  nature. 
Trees  alone  disclose  their  ages  candidly  and  freely.  In  the 
stems  of  all  trees  which  have  branches,  that  is  to  say,  in  all 
“Exogens,”  the  increase  takes  place  by  means  of  an  annual 
deposit  of  wood,  spread  in  an  even  layer  upon  the  surface 
of  the  preceding  one.  Tlie  deposits  commence  the  first  sum- 
mer of  the  tree’s  existence,  and  continue  as  long  as  it  sur- 
vives; hence,  upon  taking  a horizontal  section  of  the  stem, 
a set  of  beautiful  concentric  circles  becomes  visible,  each 
circle  indicating  an  annual  deposit,  and  thus  marking  a year 


136 


VARIOUS  RATE  OF  GROWTH  IN  TREES. 


in  the  biography  of  the  general  mass.  So  much  for  the 
felled  tree;  in  the  living  and  standing  one  of  course  the 
circles  are  concealed  from  view;  to  learn  their  number  here, 
therefore,  some  ingenuity  is  required.  The  simplest  and 
most  certain  method  is  to  burrow  into  the  trunk  with  an 
instrument  like  an  immense  cheese-taster,  which  intersects 
every  layer,  and  draws  out  a morsel  of  each,  sufficiently  dis- 
tinct for  enumeration.  Where  this  is  not  convenient,  the 
age  may  be  estimated  by  ascertaining,  as  nearly  as  possible, 
the  annual  rate  of  increase,  then  taking  the  diameter  of  the 
trunk  at  about  a yard  from  the  ground,  and  calculating  by 
‘‘rule  of  three.’’  Thus,  if  in  the  space  of  an  inch  there  be 
an  average  of  five  annual  layers,  a hundred  inches  will  an- 
nounce five  hundred  years  of  life.  The  latter  method 
requires  to  be  used,  however,  with  extreme  caution,  because 
of  the  varying  rate  of  growth,  both  in  individual  trees,  and 
in  their  different  species.  In  the  earlier  periods  of  life,  trees 
increase  much  faster  than  when  adult;  the  oak,  for  instance, 
grows  most  rapidly  between  its  twentieth  and  thirtieth  years ; 
and  when  old,  the  annual  deposits  considerably  diminish,  so 
that  the  strata  are  thinner,  and  the  rings  proportionately 
closer.  Some  trees  slacken  in  rate  of  growth  at  a very  early 
period  of  life;  the  layers  of  the  oak  become  thinner  after 
forty,  those  of  the  elm  after  fifty,  those  of  the  yew  after  sixty. 
Unless  allowance  be  made  for  this,  and  also  for  the  irregular 
thickness  of  the  layers,  which  vary  both  with  seasons  and 
with  the  position  of  the  tree  in  regard  to  the  sun,  errors  are 
inevitable.  The  concentric  circles  are  not  equally  distinct 
in  the  different  kinds  of  trees ; the  best  examples  occur  per- 
haps in  the  cone-bearers,  as  the  fir,  cedar,  and  pine.  The 
opinion  not  infrequently  held,  that  the  trees  of  cold  and 
temj)crate  countries  show  them  better  than  those  of  the 
tropics,  is,  however,  a mistaken  one.  Certainly  there  are 
equinoctial  woods  in  which  they  are  less  decidedly  marked 


PALM  TREES. 


137 


tlian  in  particular  European  species,  but  in  others  again 
they  are  plainer.  Indistinctness  and  emphasis  in  the  rings 
are  phenomena  independent  of  climate,  being  characteristic, 
in  fact,  of  particular  species,  genera,  and  even  families. 
There  are  trees  which  are  altogether  destitute  of  rings. 
These  belong  to  the  class  called  Endogens,”  of  which  the 
noblest  and  typical  form  is  the  Palm.  Plere  the  sign  of  age 
is  furnished  by  the  scars  or  stumps  of  the  fallen  leaves,  which 
are  of  enormous  size,  few  in  number,  and  produced  only 
upon  the  summit  of  the  lofty,  slender,  branchless  trunk.  A 
certain  number  of  new  leaves  expand  every  year,  and  about 
an  equal  number  of  the  oldest  decay,  so  that  by  taking  the 
total  of  the  scars,  and  dividing  it  by  the  average  annual  de- 
velopment of  new  leaves,  a tolerable  approximation  may  be 
come  to.  But  it  can  rarely  be  relied  upon;  it  is  a method 
indeed  by  no  means  universally  practicable,  the  scars  of  the 
fallen  leaves  being  very  variable  in  their  degree  of  perma- 
nence in  different  species.  The  fan-leaved  palms  preserve 
their  scars  only  at  the  lowest  part  of  the  stem;  they  lose 
them  as  they  increase  in  age  and  height,  so  that  from  the 
middle  to  the  top  it  is  nearly  bare.  Sternberg  says  that  the 
fossil  Lepidodendra  are  the  only  plants  in  which  the  scars 
remain  perfect  throughout  the  entire  length.  Wood-sections, 
neatly  cut  and  polished,  so  as  to  display  the  concentric 
circles,  are  highly  ornamental  objects,  independently  of 
their  scientific  instructiveness.  A collection  of  specimens 
from  the  lopped  boughs  of  the  hedgerows  and  plantations, 
and  from  the  timber-yard  of  the  furniture-maker,  where 
many  rich  exotics  may  be  procured,  rivals  in  beauty  a 
cabinet  of  shells  or  fossils,  and  quite  as  abundantly  rewards 
intelligent  employment  of  the  leisure  hour. 

79.  Of  the  potential  longevity  of  a tree  or  plant,  a pretty 
fair  estimate  may  be  arrived  at  from  a variety  of  circum- 
stances. For  example,  there  are  relations  between  the 
12 


138  FRUITFULNESS  IN  RELATION  TO  LONGEVITY. 


duration  of  life  and  the  quality  of  the  fruit^which  plants 
produce.  Those  which  give  tender  and  juicy  fruit,  or  at  all 
events  such  trees  as  do  this,  are  in  general  shorter-lived  than 
those  which  yield  hard  and  dry,  and  these  are  shorter-lived 
than  such  as  produce  only  little  seeds.  The  apple  and  the 
pear  live  shorter  lives  than  nut-trees,  which  are  out-lived  in 
turn  by  the  birch  and  the  elm,  as  these  are  by  the  major 
part  of  the  Conifera),  in  which  long-lived  family  there  is 
probably  not  a species  that  does  not  flourish  for  at  least  a 
hundred  years.  The  Alpine  firs  and  larches  frequently 
attain  five  centuries,  and  even  the  common  red  pine  and 
the  Scotch  fir  reach  three  to  four.  With  a few  exceptions, 
the  seeds  of  the  whole  family  are  noticeably  small,  though 
the  containing  cones  may  be  of  considerable  size.  One  of 
the  greatest  trees  in  the  world,  the  Wellingtonia  gigantea  of 
California,  a member  of  this  tribe,  with  an  estimated  maxi- 
mum age  of  two  thousand  years,  has  a beautifully-formed 
but  remarkably  small  cone,  and  seeds  in  proportion.  Such 
trees  as  the  birch,  the  elm,  and  the  conifers,  are  useful  to 
man  for  their  timber,  a service  rarely  rendered  by  the  fruit- 
bearers.  Trees  again,  that  yield  pleasant  fruit,  fit  for  human 
food,  ordinarily  live  for  shorter  periods  than  those  of  which 
the  produce  is  bitter  and  austere,  and  unserviceable  to  him 
as  an  edible.  Most,  if  not  all  of  the  plants  on  which  man 
in  his  civilized  state  depends  for  food,  are  exceedingly  short- 
lived. The  Cerealia  or  corn-producing  plants,  as  wheat, 
rice,  barley,  and  oats,  are  annuals  without  exception ; so  are 
nearly  all  kinds  of  pulse.  The  large  classes  of  esculent 
vegetables  represented  by  the  turnip,  carrot,  and  cabbage, 
are  also  either  annual  or  biennial.  How  much  man  has 
bcnciittcd  by  tliis  wise  arrangement  it  is  impossible  to  esti- 
mate. Did  liis  daily  bread  grow  on  longceva]  trees,  like 
acorns,  asking  no  care  and  toil,  tlie  most  efficient  means  to 
Ills  development  would  have  been  wanting,  as  i^  still  evi- 


BULK  IN  RELATION  TO  LONGEVITY. 


139 


denced  in  the  lands  of  the  cocoa-nut  and  banana ; but  de- 
pending, as  he  has  been  so  largely  obliged  to  do,  on  annual 
plants,  demanding  incessant  care,  they  may  be  gratefully 
regarded  as  the  prime  instrument  of  his  rise  in  intelligence 
and  morals. 

80.  The  form  or  configuration  of  plants  has  most  im- 
portant relations  with  their  lease  of  life.  Those  trees  usually 
live  to  the  greatest  age  which  attain  the  least  vertical  height 
in  proportion  to  the  diameter  of  their  trunks,  and  tl^e  lateral 
spread  of  their  branches.  Size  and  substance  have  also  to 
be  taken  note  of.  Small  and  attenuate  plants  almost  always 
live  for  shorter  periods  than  bulky  ones,  and  tender  and 
delicate  species  than  the  stout  and  hard-grained.  The  latter 
owe  their  longer  lives,  in  a physiological  point  of  view,  to 
the  abundance  of  firm,  fibrous  matter  which  enters  into 
their  composition,  and  without  which  it  appears  indeed  impos- 
sible that  any  considerable  age  can  be  arrived  at,  though 
there  are  instances  where  hard  and  durable  wood  is  found 
in  trees  of  briefer  life  than  some  that  are  soft-wooded.  The 
lime-tree  has  softer  wood  than  the  w^alnut,  beech,  and  pear, 
yet  lives  longer  than  either  of  them;  and  the  Baobab  of 
Senegal,  which  undoubtedly  lives  to  a great  age,  though 
some  of  the  accounts  of  it  are  probably  exaggerated,  is  said 
to  be  so  soft  that  it  may  be  sliced  with  a knife.  That  bulk 
should  be  accompanied  by  long  duration,  it  is  easy  to  under- 
stand. The  larger  a plant  or  tree,  the  greater  is  the  surface 
which  it  exposes  to  the  atmosphere;  and  as  it  feeds  by  every 
leaf,  the  scope  and  opportunity  for  the  exercise  of  the  vital 
functions  is  proportionately  extended.  The  more  leaves  a 
tree  can  put  forth,  and  maintain  in  healthy  action,  the  firmer 
is  its  hold  upon  the  future.  Viewed  in  regard  to  their  an- 
nual rejuvenescence,  trees  may  be  regarded  as  little  worlds 
in  themselves, — solid  masses  from  which  a multitude  of 
separate  and  perfect  plants  is  vernally  put  forth,  every  new 


140 


TEXTURE  IN  RELATION  TO  LONGEVITY. 


1 


shoot  and  twig  being  exactly  analogous  to  an  annual  that 
has  risen  from  a seed.  As  the  successive  generations  of 
plants  fill  the  earth  more  and  more  with  the  seeds  of  life, 
and  thus  both  maintain  its  actual  richness  in  verdure  and 
blossom,  and  enlarge  its  potential,  in  reference  to  years  to 
come,  so  the  annual  crops  of  twigs  and  leaves  that  clothe 
the  tree,  by  their  re-action  tend  to  consolidate  and  strengthen 
it.  The  more  exuberant  its  fertility,  the  more  does  it  aug- 
ment in  energy  of  life, — picturing  therein,  one  of  the  finest 
truths  in  our  spiritual  history;  the  soul  energizes  as  it  works. 
But  extent  of  leafy  surface  will  not  of  itself  induce  longevity. 
There  are  many  annuals  that  develope  an  immense  amount 
of  leaf,  as  the  gourd  and  the  melon.  In  such  plants,  it  is 
counteracted  by  their  exceedingly  rapid  growth,  and  conse- 
quent want  of  solidity;  for  while  too  great  a degree  of  solidi- 
fication of  the  tissues,  whether  in  plants  or  animals,  hinders 
their  proper  vital  activity,  especially  those  great  processes 
on  which  life  so  eminently  depends,  namely,  the  free  move- 
ment of  the  juices, — the  other  extreme,  or  a too  lax  and 
succulent  texture,  is  no  less  surely  fatal  to  stability  and  en- 
durance. Such  texture  is  almost  always  found  in  the  short- 
lived plants,  coming,  as  in  the  gourd,  of  their  rapid  exten- 
sion, Avhile  firm,  dense,  and  compact  texture  is  fully  as 
characteristic  of  the  longsevals.  Compare  the  wood  of  the 
yew  and  the  box-tree  with  that  of  the  soft,  sappy  black 
poplar,  and  the  willows  that  ‘^spring  by  the  water-courses.’’ 
Fungi,  mushrooms,  and  toadstools,  which,  as  regards  their 
superterraneous  portion,  are  the  most  rapid  in  development 
of  any  plants,  often  reaching  their  full  size  in  the  course  of 
a night,  arc  also  the  loosest  in  texture,  and  the  soonest  and 
speediest  to  dissolve.  Some  decay  in  a few  hours ; while  none, 
perhaps,  last  longer  than  from  seven  to  fifteen  days,  except- 
ing the  perennial  I\)lypori  and  their  congeners,  the  life  of 
which  extends  to  several  years.  Beautiful  specimens  of 


CLIMATE  AND  LONGEVITY. 


141 


these  last,  of  a rich  and  glossy  brown,  have  been  sent  to  me 
from  New  Brunswick,  where  they  grow  upon  the  birch  and 
maple  trees. 

81.  The  distinction  of  annual,  biennial,  and  perennial,  in 
regard  to  the  duration  of  plants,  is  liable  to  be  affected  by 
certain  accidents,  but  the  changes  are  never  so  great  or  so 
deeply-seated  as  for  the  principle  of  a fixed  lease  of  life  to 
be  abnegated  by  them.  An  inhospitable  climate  will  shorten 
the  life  of  perennials  to  a single  season,  as  happens  with 
mignonette,  which  in  Barbary  is  shrub-like,  and  with  the 
Palma-Christi,  which  in  India  is  a stately  tree,  though  in 
England  neither  survives  a year  in  the  open  air;  on  the 
other  hand,  unsuitable  food,  excess  of  wet,  or  any  other  cir- 
cumstance by  which  the  flowering  of  the  plant  is  retarded, 
will  induce  unaccustomed  longevity.  This  brings  us  to  the 
consideration  of  one  of  the  greatest  truths  in  the  philosophy 
of  nature,  namely,  that  all  living  things  exist,  and  feed,  and 
grow,  and  gather  strength,  in  order  that  they  may  propagate 
their  race.  Doubtless,  things  universally  have  their  social 
uses  to  subserve,  and  to  perform  which  they  were  originally 
created,  and  are  sustained  in  their  respective  places  by  the 
Almighty;  but  all  these  uses  have  reference,  essentially,  to 
the  great  ultimate  use  of  preserving  the  race  extant  upon 
the  earth,  and  multiplying  it  indefinitely,  seeing  that  in  the 
maintenance  and  multiplication  without  end  of  receptacles 
of  His  Life,  consists  the  highest  glory  of  God.  This  is  the 
end  and  design  not  only  of  the  physical,  but  even  of  the 
moral  and  intellectual  uses  performed  by  mankind  towards 
one  another,  all  of  them  tending,  more  or  less  directly,  to 
promote  and  adorn  it.  However  unconscious  we  may  be  of 
their  influence  and  private  agency,  and  however  little  we 
may  feel  ourselves  to  be  personally  identified  with  the  result, 
the  perpetuation  of  the  race  is  at  once  the  beginning  and 
the  end  of  all  the  feelings  incident  to  our  nature.  What- 


142 


DEATH  BALANCED  BY  BEPBODUCTION. 


ever  we  may  seem  to  ourselves  to  be  working  for,  the  secret 
aspiration  of  the  heart  is  always  Home  and  one’s  own  fire- 
side, bright  and  sweet  with  filial  conjugal  affection;  every 
virtue,  desire,  and  passion,  that  stirs  the  soul,  may  finally  be 
referred  hither;  in  a word,  whatever  is  friendly  to  humanity, 
in  any  of  its  needs,  whatever  gives  life  and  solidity  to  ex- 
istence, is  a collateral  means  to  reproduction,  and  was  pur- 
posely introduced  to  aid  it,  and  without  such  aid  reproduc- 
tion would  languish  and  at  last  fiil.  Why  reproduction  is 
the  great  end  of  pliysical  existence,  is  found  in  its  needful- 
ness as  the  counterpoise  of  Death.  As  the  destiny  of  all 
things  is  to  die,  were  there  no  means  estal)lished  for  their 
replacement,  the  earth  would  soon  become  a desolate  void; 
but  through  the  magnificent  law  of  procreation,  nothing  is 
ever  extinguished,  nor  a gap  ever  caused  that  is  not  instantly 
filled  up.  Though  Time  slays  and  devours  every  individual 
in  turn,  whether  animal  or  plant ; by  procreation  the  species 
is  preserved  perfect  and  immortal,  the  whole  of  nature  un- 
changed and  ever  young. 

States  fall,  Arts  fade,  but  Nature  doth  not  die ! 

By  the  continual  succession  of  beings,  all  exactly  resembling 
one  another,  and  their  parents  and  ancestors,  the  existence 
of  any  one  of  them  is  virtually  maintained  in  perjoetuity ; 
the  balance  and  the  relations  of  the  different  parts  of  nature 
are  kept  intact,  and  to  philosophic  view.  Time  itself,  rather 
than  the  temporal,  is  the  slain  one.  Thus  looked  at,  with 
the  eyes  of  a large  philosophic  generalization,  all  the  indi- 
viduals of  any  given  species  that- have  ever  existed,  and  all 
that  have  yet  to  come  into  existence,  form  but  one  great 
Whole ; the  process  of  reproduction  whereby  they  follow 
one  another  in  the  stream  that  unites  the  living  representa- 
tives to  the  primaeval  Adam  of  the  race,  being  only  Nutri- 
tion on  a grand  and  perennial  scale.  Every  individual,  so 


REPEODUCTION  THE  END  OF  LIFE. 


143 


long  as  it  lives  its  little  life,  is  the  species  m miniature, 
reproducing  all  its  tissues  as  fast  as  they  decay,  through 
vital  action  and  reaction,  or  marriage  in  its  simj^lest  form ; 
conversely,  the  aggregate  of  the  individuals,  or  the  race,  is 
as  it  were  a single  one,  diffused  over  an  immense  area  of 
time  and  country,  and  nourishing  and  regenerating  itself  by 
means  of  that  highest  and  most  complicated  play  of  the 
marriage-principle  which  the  word  marriage  popularly  de- 
notes. Every  man,  for  example,  and  every  woman,  con- 
sidered physiologically,  is  the  human  race  in  little,  every- 
thing that  belongs  to  the  race  being  enacted,  essentially  and 
daily,  in  their  individual  bodies ; at  the  same  moment  every 
man  and  every  woman  is  but  as  a molecule  of  one  great 
Homo,  now  some  six  thousand  years  of  age,  and  spread 
over  the  whole  surface  of  the  earth. 

82.  Feeding,  growing,  all  the  vital  functions  and  phe- 
nomena of  the  earlier  stages  of  life  are  to  be  regarded 
accordingly,  as  Nature’s  preliminaries  to  Reproduction. 
Every  part  of  organic  creation  illustrates  this,  but  in  the 
plant  it  is  seen  in  chief  perfection,  excepting  only  the  but- 
terfly, in  whose  little  life  the  history  is  epitomized.  In  the 
first  or  grub  state,  it  is  a creeping  cormorant;  the  alimentary 
organs  greatly  predominate,  and  growth  is  rapid.  In  the 
last  or  winged  state,  on  the  other  hand,  though  it  sips  from 
a thousand  blossoms,  it  takes  little  or  no  sustenance,  the 
excess  of  intestinal  canal  has  given  way  to  the  generative 
organs,  which  now  assume  the  mastery,  and  up  to  the  time 
of  its  early  death,  influence  almost  exclusively  its  habits. 
Many  kinds  of  butterflies  cannot  eat  indeed,  if  they  would, 
for  they  have  no  months.  Adorned  in  their  bridal  vestments, 
love  and  pleasure,  as  they  flirt  their  painted  fans,  form  the 
brief  and  brilliant  pastime  with  which  they  close  their  days. 
The  winged  state  of  the  butterfly  is  what  the  period  of 
flowering  is  to  plants,  and  the  reason  why  longer  life  is 


144 


PROLONGATION  OF  VEGETABLE  LIFE. 


occasioned  to  plants  by  delay  in  flowering,  as  above  alluded 
to,  is  that  in  the  flowers  are  contained  their  organs  of  pro- 
creation. Hence  until  they  have  bloomed  they  must  needs 
remain  childless,  or  with  the  consummation  of  life  unreal- 
ized and  nnattained.  Procreation,  or  the  production  of 
seed,  is  made  to  actuate  plants  with  a vital  impulse  so 
wonderful  and  so  like  the  instinct  of  animals  towards  the 
same  end,  that  no  other  name  conveys  an  adequate  idea  of 
it;  they  prepare  for  the  effectuation  of  it  from  the  first 
moment  of  existence,  and  until  they  have  accomplished 
their  purpose,  unless  killed  by  intense  cold,  or  sudden  and 
absolute  deprivation  of  nourishment,  will  keep  their  hold 
on  life  with  a tenacity  almost  invincible.  It  may  be  taken 
as  an  axiom  in  vegetable  physiology,  that  cceteris  paribus,  no 
plant  dies  a natural  death  till  it  has  ripened  seeds.  If  its 
life  be  endangered,  by  penury  of  food  or  mutilation,  the 
entire  vital  energy  of  the  plant  concentrates  itself  in  the 
production  of  a flower,  it  ceases  to  put  forth  leaves,  and 
expends  its  whole  force  in  efforts  to  secure  progeny.  This 
is  strikingly  exemplified  in  hot,  dry  gardens,  and  by  sum- 
mer waysides,  where,  as  if  conscious  of  the  impending 
danger,  plants  ordinarily  of  considerable  stature,  begin  to 
propagate  while  scarcely  an  inch  high.  Delay  in  flowering, 
attended  by  prolonged  life,  is  usually  the  result  of  excess  of 
nourishment.  Thus,  if  a plant  grow  in  too  luxurious,  or 
too  watery  a soil,  causing  it  to  become  unduly  succulent,  or 
if  it  be  subjected  to  an  atmosphere  too  warm  for  it,  and 
thus  unnaturally  stimulated,  instead  of  producing  flowers, 
it  runs  to  leaf  f it  passes  into  the  condition  of  an  over- 
fattened or  pampered  animal,  and  is  similarly  unfitted  for 
the  reproductive  function ; and  like  the  animal  again,  to 
re-enter  upon  it,  must  become  deplethoric.  No  plant  can 
suffer  from  phyllomania  and  be  fruitful  at  the  same  moment. 
Diclinous  plants,  when  growing  in  wet  localities,  are  re- 


PROLONGATION  OF  VEGETABLE  LIFE. 


145 


markable  for  the  excess  of  male  flowers  over  female.  De- 
lay in  flowering  and  consequent  prolongation  of  life  beyond 
the  usual  limit,  also  occur  through  insufficiency  of  nourish- 
ment, and  want  of  kindly  climatic  aid.  Many  plants  live 
longer  in  our  gardens  than  in  their  native  countries  simply 
for  want  of  the  encouragement  to  blossom  which  they  are 
accustomed  to  at  home.  In  Mexico  the  great  American 
Aloe  comes  into  bloom  when  four  or  five  years  old,  and  then 
dies,  while  in  England  it  drags  a kind  of  semi-torpid  exist- 
ence for  so  long  before  the  flowers  appear,  that  it  is  a pro- 
verb for  a hundred  years’  preparation.  Some  plants  may 
have  their  lives  prolonged  a little  while  by  nipping  off  the 
flowers  as  soon  as  they  begin  to  fade.  Here,  however,  so 
much  of  the  vital  energy  has  been  expended  in  the  produc- 
tion of  the  floral  organs,  that  they  never  properly  recover 
themselves.  Yv^hen  the  flowers  of  a plant,  under  cultiva- 
tion, become  double ; that  is,  when  they  have  their  repro- 
ductive organs  changed  into  petals,  and  are  thereby  pre- 
vented from  seeding,  their  life  is  considerably  prolonged; 
annuals  even  become  perennial ; Tropoeolum  minus,  when 
double,  has  endured  for  twelve  years.  The  life  of  annuals 
may  also  be  prolonged  by  grafting  them  upon  perennials. 
Many  annual  Solanaceie  will  live  for  years  when  grafted  on 
ligneous  species  of  the  same  genus,  as  the  annual  kinds  of 
Tobacco,  when  grafted  on  the  Nicotiana  glauca,  that  beau- 
tiful woody  species  which  grows  to  a greater  height  than  a 
man.  A similar  extension  of  life  may  be  given  to  some  of 
the  annual  species  of  Dianthus.  Lastly,  as  regards  the 
relation  of  procreation  to  the  lease  of  life,  it  is  a universal 
law,  both  in  animals  and  plants,  that  the  earlier  the  ])uberty, 
the  earlier  is  the  death.  Annuals,  which  flower  when  only 
a few  weeks  old,  die  in  a few  months ; those  plants  only  live 
long  which  do  not  blossom  till  their  fifth  or  sixth  year ; the 
highest  ages  invariably  j^ertain  to  those  whicli  are  the 
33  (J 


146 


RESULTS  OF  CULTURE. 


slowest  to  celebrate  their  nuptials.  Very  young  forest  trees 
are  never  found  in  flower. 

83.  Many  of  the  conditions  which  affect  the  duration  of 
vegetable  life,  are  thus  results  or  accompaniments  of  Culti- 
vation. The  object  of  cultivation  is,  for  the  most  part, 
gre^tter  fridtfubiess ; few  plants  are  cultivated  merely  for  the 
sake  of  their  wood  or  foliage ; the  aim  is  to  procure  either 
more  flowers  to  delight  us  with  their  beauty,  or  more  seeds 
to  make  use  of  as  food.  In  either  case,  the  stimulation 
which  they  receive  at  the  hands  of  the  gardener  tends  to 
hasten  them  on  towards  maturity,  and  to  excite  the  repro- 
ductive energy  to  the  utmost.  The  consequence  is  that  the 
conservative  power  is  reduced,  and  the  organism  prema- 
turely exhausted.  Cultivation,  therefore,  as  a rule,  may  be 
regarded  as  a shorten er  of  plant-life.  Of  course  it  is  only 
the  life  of  the  individual  that  is  abbreviated ; the  absolute 
lease  of  life  in  the  species  is  unaltered  and  unalterable,  and 
is  completed  wherever  the  individuals  enjoy  their  existence 
unmolested. 

84.  The  result  of  one  of  the  arts  of  culture  makes  it  seem 
as  if  there  were  no  such  thing  as  a fixed  lease  of  life  in 
plants,  viz.,  the  art  of  propagation  by  slips  and  cuttings, 
which,  when,  carefully  detached  and  placed  in  the  soil,  will 
grow  into  counterparts  of  the  original,  and  (they  themselves 
being  extensible  after  the  same  manner)  effect  for  it  a kind 
of  perpetuity.  Vines  of  the  time  of  the  Koman  empire, 
have  been  thus  transmitted  to  the  present  day,  gifted  as  it 
were,  by  man  with  a longevity  unknown  to  their^  state  of 
nature.  Many  herbaceous  perennials,  especially  in  gardens, 
possess  in  this  aptitude  such  ample  and  efficient  means  of 
j)ropagation  as  to  incline  to  the  belief  that  their  flowers  and 
seeds  arc  of  quite  secondary  importance,  dedicated  rather  to 
the  heart  and  appetite  of  man.  The  lily  of  the  valley,  for 
example,  and  the  strawberry. 


INDIVIDUALITY  OF  PLANTS 


147 


85.  To  see  how  this  curious  phenomenon  harmonizes  with 
the  indubitable  law  of  specific  lease,  we  have  to  consider  the 
peculiar  structure  or  organic  composition  of  plants,  and,  as 
flowing  from  this  latter,  the  nature  and  amount  of  their  in- 
dividuality. The  organic  composition  of  a plant  is  very 
different  from  that  of  an  animal.  In  all  except  the  very 
lowest  forms  of  animals,  there  is  but  one  of  each  kind  of  or- 
gan, or  of  each  set  of  organs,  as  the  case  may  be,  as  one 
heart,  one  mouth,  one  set  of  limbs,  one  system  of  bones. 
Every  organ  is  more  or  less  in  connection  with  every  other, 
and  not  one  of  those  which  are  preeminently  ^WitaE’  can 
be  removed  without  causing  instant  death  to  the  whole 
fabric.  The  animal,  in  a word,  is  an  absolute  Unity,  every 
part  being  reciprocally  dependent  upon  every  other  part, 
and  the  springs  of  its  life  centralized.  In  the  tree,  on  the 
other  hand,  there  is  no  centralization ; no  organ  occurs  only 
once ; everything  is  a thousand  times  recapitulated ; there 
are  as  many  lungs  as  there  are  leaves,  as  many  procreant 
parts  as  flowers.  Like  an  arborescent  zoophyte,  a Sertu- 
laria,  for  example,  a tree  is  a vast  congeries  of  distinct  or- 
ganisms, every  one  of  them  as  independent  of  the  others  as 
one  sheep  is  independent  of  the  remainder  of  the  flock,  only 
that  all  are  organically  united,  and  contribute,  by  their 
union,  to  the  general  welfare,  and  to  the  building  up  of  a 
magnificent  social  edifice.  Every  separate  twig  is  a little 
plant  in  itself;  consociated  with  the  others,  but  still  inde- 
pendent of  them,  it  feeds,  grows,  and  procreates  in  its  own 
person.  A tree,  therefore  (and  any  plant  old  enough  to 
have  thrown  out  buds  and  shoots),  is  at  once  an  Individual 
and  a Community.  It  is  an  Individual  in  respect  of  its 
presentation  of  the  physiognomy  and  characters  of  the  spe- 
cies, the  form,  the  altitude,  and  the  gracefulness  or  robust 
dignity ; aiso  as  standing  alone,  and  dying  at  the  expiration 
of  an  allotted  term ; it  is  a Community  in  respect  of  its  consist- 


148  TREES  ARE  INDIVIDUALS  AND  COMMUNITIES. 

ing  of  innumerable  minor  trees.  So  long  as  the  constituent 
twigs  remain  seated  on  the  bough,  they  are  subject  to  the 
laws  and  vicissitudes  of  the  general  mass,  sharing  its  life, 
and  dying  when  it  dies ; detached  from  it,  every  one  of  them 
is  competent  to  strike  root,  and  by  degrees  become  the  pillar 
of  another  such  edifice.  A fuchsia  may  be  multiplied  into 
a hundred,  in  the  course  of  a single  season,  without  destroy- 
ing the  original  stem ; and  every  one  of  these  hundred  may, 
three  years  afterwards,  be  multiplied  into  as  many  more. 
Such  division  of  one  organism  into  many  is  possible  only 
where  the  fountains  of  life  are  not  centralized — where  there 
are  neither  brain  nor  heart,  the  means  and  tokens  of  con- 
centration; hence  it  is  practicable  as  regards  the  animal 
kingdom  only  in  those  humble  tribes  from  which  these  or- 
gans appear  to  be  absent,  and  the  nature  of  which  approxi- 
mates to  that  of  plants.  The  analogy,  we  may  add,  be- 
tween trees  and  the  arborescent  zoophytes  is  in  various 
other  ways  most  curious  and  attractive.  Here  we  cannot 
do  more  than  advert  to  their  wonderful  correspondence  in 
respect  to  the  longevity  of  the  general  mass.  Ehrenberg 
judges  that  certain  enormous  corals  which  he  saw"  in  the 
Red  Sea,  and  parts  of  which  are  still  tenanted  by  working 
polyps,  were  alive  in  the  time  of  the  Pharaohs,  and  have 
been  growing  and  enlarging  ever  since.  Others,  of  equally 
vast  age,  have  been  observed  in  the  waters  of  tropical 
America. 

86.  Dr.  Harvey,  in  his  most  ingenious  little  book  on 
Trees  and  their  Nature,’’  revives  the  hypothesis  originally 
propounded  by  De  La  Hire,  and  subsequently  held  by  Dar- 
win, Mirbel,  Du  Petit  Thouars,  Gaudichaud,  and  others, 
that  a tree  is  merely  a mechanical  and  passive  structure,  as 
regards  the  trunk  and  woody  portions,  these  serving  simply 
to  support  the  annual  twigs,  and  to  allow  the  passage  of 
fluids  to  and  from  the  latter,  by  exosmose  and  other  physi- 


PHYSIOGNOMY  OF  TREES. 


149 


cal  and  chemical  laws.  The  tree,  in  its  totality,  he  views, 
with  these  authors,  simply  as  a collection  of  living  yet  per- 
fectly distinct  annual  tree-plants,  the  produce  of  the  year, 
and  of  the  dead  remains  of  a still  larger  number,  the  pro- 
duce of  preceding  years ; the  living  plants  evolved  from 
buds,  and  growing  as  parasites  on  the  organic  remains  of 
the  dead  plants.  According  to  this  view,  the  stem  has  no 
intrinsic  vitality ; and  all  plants  w^hatever  are  annuals,  those 
commonly  so  called  differing  from  such  as  grow  on  trees 
merely  bj^  having  their  connection  directly  with  the  soil,  in- 
stead of  indirectly  through  a woody  pillar.  A corollary  is 
that  there  is  no  natural  limit  either  to  the  life  of  trees,  or  to 
their  size.  Schleiden  holds  similar  opinions.  After  citing 
examples  of  old  trees,  he  observes : — These  examples  are 
quite  sufficient  to  prove  the  probability  of  a compound 
plant  living  on  without  end.  These  plants  die  ordinarily 
in  consequence  of  mechanical  injuries.  A storm  breaks  off 
a branch ; the  broken  surface  is  exposed  to  the  action  of 
rain-water;  decay  takes  place;  the  firmness  of  the  heart- 
w^ood  becomes  affected ; a new  storm  casts  the  whole  tree  to 
the  ground,  separates  the  trunk  from  the  roots,  and  it  per- 
ishes of  hunger.’’  (‘^Principles  of  Scientific  Botany,”  p. 
538.)  Let  us  see  how  this  consists  with  facts.  Every  spe- 
cies of  tree,  like  every  species  of  animal,  has  its  definite  con- 
figuration and  physiognomy,  by  which  we  recognize  it 
whether  covered  with  leaves  or  in  the  bareness  of  winter, 
and  attains,  under  fair  circumstances,  a certain  maximum 
size  and  height.  Neither  of  these  would  be  the  case  were 
the  tree  gifted  with  indefinite  powers  of  life.  The  period  of 
the  culmination  of  the  life  of  a tree  is  that  when  it  shows  its 
perfect  and  characteristic  outline ; and  this  being  acquired, 
though  for  awhile  there  may  be  little  change  in  aspect,  and 
though  crops  of  new  twigs  may  be  annually  produced  for 


150 


MR.  knight’s  theory  OF  TREES. 


some  years,  declension  as  inevitably  follows  as  with  a man 
after  he  has  reached  his  ineridian. 

87.  Thus  indejDcndent — actually  as  regards  themselves, 
potentially  as  regards  the  tree — healthy  cuttings  are  equiva- 
lent to  seedlings.  Strictly  without  doubt,  the  new  individu- 
als procured  by  taking  slips  from  a given  plant,  are  but 
portions  of  it,  since  those  plants  alone  can  legitimately  be 
called  new  which  come  from  seed.  There  are  no  absolute 
beginnings  anywhere  in  nature  except  as  the  direct  produce 
of  sexuality.  To  view  them,  however,  with  Mr.  Knight,  as 
portions  of  a whole,  disconnected  merely,  and  involved  in  a 
common  destiny,  is  quite  incorrect.  This  eminent  man 
went  so  far  as  to  account  for  the  extinction  of  certain  varie- 
ties of  apples  and  other  fruits,  on  the  hypothesis  that  when 
the  original  tree  died,  the  extensions  of  it  raised  from  cut- 
tings, though  firmly  rooted,  and  grown  into  large  trees 
would  die  likewise.  According  to  this  hypothesis,  an  indi- 
vidual can  exist  in  many  places  at  once ; the  willow,  for  ex- 
ample, which  shades  the  first  tomb  of  Napoleon  at  St. 
Helena,  is  the  same  as  that  which  at  Ermenonville  weeps 
over  the  ashes  of  Rousseau.  The  original  and  the  deriva- 
tives form  a whole  only  in  a historical  point  of  view.  In 
regard  to  the  lease  of  life,  a vigorous  cutting  is  in  the  same 
position  as  a seed,  and  the  tree  raised  from  it  enjoys  a com- 
plete and  independent  term  of  being.  It  has  nothing  to  do 
with  the  lease  of  its  predecessor,  but  commences  life  de 
novoy  and  attains  the  age  proper  to  the  species.  Probably 
enough,  a cutting  taken  from  an  old  and  enfeebled  tree,  past 
its  climacteric,  may  be  unable  to  develop  itself  luxuriantly, 
and  may  die  almost  as  soon ; but  taken  from  a young  and 
healthy  one,  its  lease  runs  to  the  full  term.  Plants,  it 
should  be  observed,  are  not  equally  capable  of  propagation 
in  the  way  described.  As  regards  trees,  those  of  which  the 
wood  is  light  and  white  succeed  the  best,  the  willo\V,  f(u-  ex- 


LEASE  OF  LIFE  IN  ALGiE. 


151 


ample ; while  with  pines,  oaks,  and  trees  in  general  that 
have  dense  and  resinous  wood,  the  reluctance  is  extreme. 
Reviewing  the  whole  matter,  it  will  appear  that  so  far  from 
the  principle  of  a fixed  lease  of  life  being  invalidated  by  the 
facts  of  horticulture,  it  is  verified  with  new  illustrations. 

88.  Sea-weeds,  like  terrestrial  plants,  are  annual,  biennial, 
or  perennial.  The  common  green  Ulva  is  an  example  of  an 
annual;  the  great  black  fuci  which  hide  the  rocks  on  many 
coasts  with  their  curious  bladdered  drapery,  are  perennial; 
the  biennial  include,  among  others,  the  Rhodomenia  pal- 
mata,  or  dulse,  and  the  Delessaria  sanguinea,  that  lovely 
translucent  plant  which  carries  the  palm  with  no  less 
justice  in  the  gardens  of  the  sea,  than  the  rose,  which  it  emu- 
lates in  color,  in  those  of  the  land. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


nUJtATION  OV  T.IFJ^  IN  ANIMA  LS. 

89.  In  Animals,  the  lease  of  life  is  comparatively  short. 
Though  many  species  live  longer  than  the  generality  of 
plants,  none  attain  to  ages  so  prodigious  as  occur  among 
the*  patriarchs  of  the  forest;  neither  are  so  many  species 
long^eval  in  proportion  to  the  whole  number.  The  elephant 
and  the  swan  outlive  myriads  of  shrubs  and  flowers;  but 
when  they  have  themselves  waned  into  senility,  the  leafy 
pride  of  many  trees  has  scarcely  begun.  Few  of  any  tribe 
of  animals  live  more  than  forty  years ; whereas  trees,  almost 
without  excejDtion,  endure  for  at  least  a century. 

90.  The  physiological  or  proximate  reason  of  this  disparity 
is,  that  in  the  animal  kingdom,  taken  as  a whole,  life  is  pre- 
sent in  a higher  degree  of  concentration.  This  involves  a 
more  elaborate  and  complex  organization,  and  a greater  in- 
tensity of  vital  action;  sustained,  moreover,  in  unbroken 
continuity,  and  in  every  portion  of  the  fabric  at  once — the 
very  conditions  which,  as  illustrated  in  the  machines  con- 
structed by  human  art,  are  identified  with  fragility  and  early 
exhaustion.  In  plants,  without  doubt,  the  organization  is 
exquisitely  fine,  and  the  vital  functions  are  various  and 
womhirful.  The  microscopist  well  knows  how  beautiful  is 
the  system  of  cells,  and  tubes,  and  spiral  vessels,  constituting 
the  int(irnal  substance  of  a plant;  and  the  physiologist,  how 
admirable  and  profound  is  that  vital  economy  which  enables 
it  to  grow,  to  put  forth  leaves  and  blossoms  in  their  proper 

1.02 


INDIVIDUALITY  OF  ANIMALS. 


15S 


season,  and  to  prepare  sugar,  oil,  farina,  and  the  thousand 
other  products  which  render  the  vegetable  kingdom  so  inva- 
luable to  man;  still,  it  is  not  such  an  organization  as  per- 
tains to  Animal  life,  which  demands  both  new  varieties  of 
tissue  and  new  forms  of  organic  apparatus.  For  while  the 
animal  is  the  completion  of  the  design  so  marvellously  sha- 
dowed forth  and  prefigured  in  the  plant,  it  is  not  merely  the 
plant  more  nobly  and  curiously  developed.  It  is  a recon- 
struction of  the  plant,  effected,  certainly,  with  the  same 
crude  materials,  but  wrought  into  forms  more  rare  and  com- 
posite, and  with  an  entirely  new  set  of  ideas  superadded.  It 
is  a mistake  to  suppose,  as  some  have  done,  that  plant  and 
animal  exactly  agree,  even  in  a single  circumstance  of  their 
respective  natures.  There  are  organs  of  digestion,  respira- 
tion, reproduction,  and  so  forth,  in  both;  and  there  is  a 
general  correspondence,  between  the  functions  which  these 
organs  severally  fulfill ; but  they  are  never  the  same  organs, 
nor  the  same  functions,  in  the  strict  and  proper  meaning  of 
the  word.  The  animal  dwells  on  a higher  platform,  and  all 
the  phenomena  of  its  history  are  in  keeping. 

91.  The  intenser  life  of  the  animal  gives  it  a completer 
individuality,  and  to  this,  as  the  end  for  which  it  is  gifted 
with  intenser  life,  is  properly  to  be  ascribed  its  shorter  lease 
when  compared  with  the  durability  of  the  plant.  The  end 
for  which  a thing  is  designed  is  always  the  noblest  feature 
of  its  being,  and  therefore  the  most  useful  as  well  as  philo- 
sophical to  keep  uppermost  in  view.  It  is  for  the  sake  of 
sustaining  its  individuality  that  the  organization  of  an 
animal  is  so  complex  and  elaborate;  it  is  for  the  same  rea- 
son that  the  vital  functions  are  so  varied,  ceaseless,  and  in- 
terwoven ; and  further,  that  they  are  so  universal  as  to  the 
theatre  of  their  performance.  For  they  are  not  exercised 
only  at  certain  periods,  or  in  certain  portions  of  the  organ- 
ism, but  unceasingly,  from  birth  to  dissolution,  and  as  vigo- 


154  ACTIVITY  THE  GKEAT  CHARACTERISTIC. 


rously  in  one  part  as  another.  Certain  great  duties  are 
assigned  to  special  organs  as  head-quarters,  it  is  true;  but 
ju^actically  and  in  effect,  every  organ  is  diflused  througliout 
tlie  body,  and  every  function  is  everywhere  performed.  The 
heart  is  wherever  there  is  blood;  the  brain  wherever  there 
is  feeling.  Tlie  great  characteristic  of  concentrated  life,  or 
of  Individuality  in  high  perfection,  is  this  vivid,  ceaseless, 
omnipresent  Activity.  In  all  the  forms  of  nature  which 
are  endowed  with  it — that  is,  in  all  animals  of  any  com- 
plexity of  organization,  as  we  saw  when  considering  the  sub- 
ject of  food — there  is  a continual  drawing-in  of  nutrient 
matter  from  without,  and  conversion  of  it  into  living  tissue, 
and  as  continual  a decomposition  of  wliat  lias  previously 
been  assimilated,  and  concurrent  expulsion  of  the  fragments. 
Every  moment,  in  the  life  of  an  animal,  witnesses  a new 
receiving,  appropriation,  and  giving  back;  old  age  and 
rejuvenescence  revolving  upon  each  other;  death  destroying 
over  again,  and  creation  beginning  afresh.  On  the  excreting 
part  of  the  process,  the  maintenance  of  the  vital  condition 
is  more  closely  and  immediately  dependent  than  it  is  even 
upon  the  supply  of  new  aliment.  Feeding  may  be  suspended 
for  a considerable  period  without  causing  anything  more 
than  debility:  but  the  removal  of  the  effete  particles  gene- 
rated by  the  decomposition  of  the  tissues,  cannot  be  checked 
even  for  a few  minutes,  at  least  in  the  warm-blooded  animals, 
without  inducing  a fatal  result.  For  every  act  of  respira- 
tion is  in  effect  one  of  excretion,  and  to  stay  the  breathing, 
as  we  all  know,  is  to  quench  the  life. 

92.  In  trees  and  plants,  on  the  other  hand,  where  the  con- 
centration of  life  is  slight,  the  individuality  faint,  and  the 
orgaTiization  comparatively  sinq)]e,  so  simple  that  no  part 
of  tlie  organism  is  absolutely  dependent  upon  another  part, 
where  there  are  no  consecrated  vital  centres,  no  heart,  lungs, 
brain,  or  digestive  cavity,  existence  no  longer  depends  upon 


ANALOGIES  OF  PLANTS  AND  ANIMALS. 


155 


incessant  and  total  change  of  the  very  substance  of  tho 
fabric,  and  the  vital  activity  is  proportionately  low.  The 
bulk  of  the  tree,  that  is,  all  the  consolidated  or  woody  por- 
tion, and  every  other  part  which  has  been  finally  shaped 
and  hardened,  instead  of  living  by  perpetual  decomposition 
and  reconstruction,  and  depending  on  these  i^rocesses  as  the 
very  condition  of  existence,  remains  fixed  and  unalterable 
till  the  lease  of  the  entire  organism  has  run  out.  Those 
parts  only  which  are  immediately  employed  in  the  vital  pro- 
cesses, as  the  flowers,  and  leaves,  and  the  extreme  ends  of 
the  rootlets,  in  which  parts  there  is  also  more  concentration 
of  life,  are  subject  to  such  decay  as  takes  place  in  the  body 
of  an  animal.  In  these  it  occurs  in  close  and  striking  cor- 
respondence, along  with  as  complete  a renovation.  What 
the  tissues  are  to  the  animal,  the  foliage  is  to  plant  and  tree; 
every  perennial  plant,  like  every  animal,  dies  innumerable 
molecular  or  leafy  deaths  prior  to  its  total,  somatic  death; 
and,  as  the  years  roll  by,  is  reinstated  in  as  many  molecular 
or  leafy  lives.  Autumn  and  spring  are  to  the  tree,  by  cor- 
respondence, what  every  day  of  its  existence  is  to  a living 
animal;  all  that  is  concerned  in  keeping  it  alive  withers 
away,  but  all  is  rapidly  renewed.  The  difference  as  to  the 
time  that  elapses  between  the  respective  deaths  and  renova- 
tions, e.,  of  the  molecules  of  the  animal  frame,  and  the 
leafy  atoms  of  the  tree,  in  no  wise  robs  the  phenomena  of 
their  essential  unity.  That  which  is  most  concentrated  is 
always  most  vivacious,  as  the  mountain-rivulet  runs  faster 
than  the  broad  river  of  the  plain.  It  was  no  mere  play  of 
fancy  that  led  the  ancients  to  call  man  arbor  inversa.  Man 
is  not  only  man;  he  is  all  things,  every  part  of  the  universe 
in  turn,  according  to  the  point  of  view  from  which  we  look. 
The  fable  of  Proteus  is  but  a description  of  human  nature : 
“First  indeed  he  became  a lion  with  noble  mane,  and  then 
a dragon,  and  a leopard,  and  a great  bear;  and  he  became 


156 


LEASES  OF  LIFE  IN  THE  MAMMALIA. 


liquid  water,  and  a lofty-leaved  tree.’’  Flesh  and  blood  to 
our  first  or  anatomical  ideas,  under  the  alchemy  of  the  ima- 
gination, the  human  body  transmutes  into  tree,  fountain, 
temple,  and  all  things  in  succession  tliat  are  beautiful  and 
glorious.  Tilings  are  intelligible  in  fact,  and  truly  seen, 
only  in  the  degree  that  we  discern  ourselves  in  them,  and  read 
them  through  the  lens  of  human  nature.  ^‘To  describe  any 
scene  well,”  says  Richter,  “ the  poet  must  make  tlie  bosom 
of  a man  his  camera  obscura,  and  look  at  it  through  tliisf^ 
similarly,  to  enter  into  the  full,  philosophic  understanding 
even  of  the  simplest  objects  and  phenomena  of  the  world, 
we  must  take  that  ‘‘choice  optic  glass,”  the  human  body  and 
its  life. 

93.  On  a general  survey  of  the  ages  reached  by  animals, 
when  not  shortened  by  violence  or  disease,  the  area  of  time 
which  they  cover  is  found  but  small  compared  with  that  of 
plants.  With  a few  exceptions,  forty,  as  before  said,  is 
about  the  maximum  age,  and  three  or  four  al)out  the  mini- 
mum. No  such  exact  division  can  be  made  among  them  as 
that  of  annuals,  biennials,  and  perennials,  among  plants, 
unless  certain  insects  correspond  to  the  first  named.  It  is 
to  be  observed,  however,  that  there  is  an  ordinary  maximum 
age,  and  an  e^r^ra-ordinary.  Every  known  lease  of  life,  at 
least  in  the  vertebrate  animals,  appears  capable  of  renewal, 
or  rather  of  extension,  even  to  the  doubling  of  the  ordinary 
period;  that  is,  while  every  creature  has  its  customary  or 
natural  term,  it  appears  competent  to  live,  under  certain 
favorable  circumstances,  for  an  extraordinary  or  additional 
term  of  the  same,  or  nearly  the  same,  extent.  Thus,  while 
the  ordinary  life  of  man  is  three  score  and  ten,  he  is  capable 
of  an  extraordinary  life  of  seventy  years  more ; the  ordinary 
life  of  the  camel  is  forty  or  fifty,  but  individuals  sometimes 
last  out  the  century.  Query,  then,  which  is  the  actual  and 
original  lease?  And  if  the  longer  one  be  the  original  (as 


LEASES  OF  LIFE  IN  THE  MAMMALIA. 


157 


all  the  probabilities  favor  the  belief  of  its  being),  why  is  it 
cut  short  by  one-half  in  all  but  a few  memorable  cases? 

94.  The  longest-living  Mammal,  after  the  whale,  already 
mentioned,  appears  to  be  that  affectionate,  docile,  and  saga- 
cious creature,  the  elephant.  Nothing  is  known  positively 
as  to  its  lease,  but  the  estimate  of  one  hundred  and  fifty 
years  is  certainly  not  beyond  the  mark.*  The  rhinoceros 
and  the  hippopotamus  are  reputed  to  come  next,  a maxi- 
mum of  seventy  or  eighty  being  assigned  to  each  of  these 
huge  brutes;  then,  it  is  said,  follows  the  camel,  a meagre, 
dry,  active,  exceedingly  hardy  animal,  whose  useful  life  ex- 
tends not  infrequently  to  fifty.  The  period,  reckoning  by 
decrements,  between  fifty  and  thirty,  is  reached  by  few. 
The  stag,  longa3val  only  in  romance,  dies  at  thirty-five  or 
thereabouts ; the  leopard,  bear,  and  tiger,  fail  fully  ten  years 
earlier;  twenty-five  or  thirty  is  the  ordinary  maximum  of 
the  horse  and  ass,  though  the  severe  treatment  of  man  rarely 
allows  them  to  reach  even  this.  The  mule,  it  is  worthy  of 
notice,  is  stronger-lived  and  becomes  older,  a circumstance 
anticipated  in  plants,  where  hybrids  frequently  live  longer 
than  their  parents.  The  cause  is  probably  the  same  in  both, 
and  to  be  found  in  their  infertility,  whereby  their  whole 
vigor  is  left  at  liberty  for  self-maintenance,  instead  of  being 
expended  in  two  directions.  Many  leases  expire  between 
twenty  and  ten.  The  former  seems  to  be  the  ordinary  maxi- 
mum of  the  lion,  as  reached  in  menageries,  though  when 
unconfined  it  evidently  lives  longer,  for  it  has  sometimes 
been  found  without  teeth.  Twenty  is  the  limit  also  with  the 
bull,  despite  his  great  strength,  size,  and  solidity;  the  dog 
and  the  wolf  seldom  pass  eighteen;  the  sheep,  the  goat,  and 


* An  elephant  aged  one  hundred  and  twenty  years  was  put  to  death 
ia  Lcndon,  in  July,  1855. — TimeSj  July  23d. 

14 


158 


AGES  ATTAINED  BY  BIRDS. 


tlie  fox,  rarely  live  more  than  twelve.  Tlie  maximum  of 
the  domestic  cat  is  said  to  be  ten;  that  of  the  rabbit,  hare, 
and  guinea-pig,  seven  or  eight;  that  of  the  mouse,  live  or 
six,  and  of  otlier  such  little  animals  about  the  same.  As  to 
the  leases  of  the  remainder  of  the  four-footed  creatures  of 
our  planet,  excepting  a dozen  or  so,  zoology  is  entirely  unin- 
formed, and  until  tliey  shall  have  been  ascertained,  of  course 
nothing  like  a proper  list  can  be  constructed.  The  animals 
which  have  been  mentioned  are  certainly  among  the  chief, 
and  indicate  the  scope  and  limits  which  a table  of  ages, 
when  completed,  will  exhibit;  but  so  far,  the  list  is  only  like 
a boy’s  first  map,  unfurnished  except  with  the  names  of  the 
seas,  the  metropolis,  and  his  native  town.  One  thing  is 
plain,  that  Man,  regarded  as  a member  of  the  animal  king- 
dom, has  no  occasion  to  murmur  at  the  shortness  of  his 
lease  of  life,  but  should  rather  congratulate  himself,  seeing 
that  he  enjoys  a considerably  longer  term,  even  in  his  ordi- 
nary duration,  than  the  great  mass  of  his  physiological  fra- 
ternity, while  it  is  pretty  certain  that  there  is  not  an  animal 
of  his  own  size  that  does  not  return  to  dust  before  half  as 
old. 

95.  The  scale  of  ages  attained  by  Birds  is  much  about  the 
same  as  that  of  mammals;  but  taking  j3ne  with  another, 
they  probably  live  longer  in  proportion  to  their  bulk.  No 
creatures  are  better  adapted  for  longevity;  they  are  pecu- 
liarly well  clothed,  for  no  covering  can  be  more  complete, 
or  better  calculated  to  preserve  warmth,  than  their  soft, 
close-lying  feathers;  and  as  these  are  renewed  periodically, 
they  are  maintained  in  the  best  possible  condition.  Many 
birds  also  cast  their  bills,  and  ac(piire  new  ones,  a most  ad- 
vantageous exchange  for  them,  since  they  are  thereby  ren- 
dered so  much  the  better  able  to  feed  themselves.  Besides 
these  peculiarities,  birds  live  almost  entirely  in  the  fresh  air, 
and  their  habits  are  cheerful  and  sportive,  conditions  emi- 


AGES  OF  FISHES. 


169 


nently  conducive  to  long  life.  As  to  the  particular  terms 
of  life  which  obtain  among  them,  Flourens  says  he  knows 
‘^nothing  certain.”  There  is  plenty  of  evidence,  neverthe- 
less, that  such  birds  as  the  eagle,  the  vulture,  the  falcon,  and 
the  swan,  far  surpass  all  others  in  longevity,  and  attain  ages 
so  remarkable  as  often  to  exceed  very  considerably  that  of 
man.  Even  the  crow  is  reputed  to  live  a hundred  years, 
and  the  raven  no  less  than  ninety.  There  have  been  in- 
stances of  the  parrot  living  for  sixty  years  a prisoner,  and 
its  age,  when  captured,  would  have  to  be  added.  Pelicans 
and  herons  are  said  to  reach  forty  to  fifty  years;  hawks, 
tliirty  to  forty;  peacocks,  goldfinches,  and  blackbirds,  about 
twenty;  pheasants  and  pigeons,  about  the  same;  nightin- 
gales, fifteen;  the  robin,  a little  less;  domestic  fowls,  about 
ten;  thrushes,  eight  or  nine;  wrens,  two  to  three. 

96.  Concerning  the  ages  of  Fishes,  even  less  is  known 
than  about  birds.  It  is  vaguely  believed  of  them  that  they 
are  longseval.  The  reasons  for  this  opinion  are,  that  the 
element  in  which  they  live  is  more  uniform  in  its  condition 
than  the  atmosphere,  and  that  they  are  less  subject  in  conse- 
quence to  those  injurious  influences  which  tend  to  shorten 
the  lives  of  terrestrial  creatures;  and  secondly,  that  their 
bones,  being  of  a more  cartilaginous  nature  than  those  of 
land  animals,  admit  of  almost  indefinite  extension,  so  that 
the  frame  is  longer  in  growing  to  maturity.  Gesner  gives 
an  instance  of  a carp,  in  Germany,  which  was  known  to  be 
a hundred  years  old;  other  writers  assign  to  this  fish  as 
much  as  a hundred  and  fifty,  and  to  the  pike  a longevity 
even  greater.  Hufeland  remarks  that  natural  death  occurs 
among  fishes  more  rarely  than  in  any  other  part  of  the  ani- 
mal kingdom.  ^‘The  law  of  the  transition  of  one  into 
another,  according  to  the  right  of  the  strongest,  prevails 
here  far  more  generally  than  elsewhere.  One  devours 
another, — the  stronger  the  weaker.  This  regulation,”  he 


160 


AGES  OF  REPTILES. 


continues,  ‘^is  a proof  of  divine  and  exalted  wisdom.  If  the 
innumerable  millions  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  waters  were 
to  remain  when  they  died  a single  day  unentombed,  they 
would  speedily  diffuse  abroad  the  most  dreadful  pestilential 
evaporation.  But  passing,  while  scarcely  dead,  into  the 
substance  of  another  living  being,  death  exists  less  in  the 
Avater  than  on  land, — the  putrefaction  takes  place  in  the 
stomachs  of  the  stronger.” 

97.  lleptiles  attain  surprising  ages.  The  tortoise,  Avhich 
is  so  slow  in  growing  that  in  twenty  years  an  increase  of  a 
few  inches  is  all  that  can  be  detected,  has  lived  even  in  cap- 
tivity above  a century.  One  placed  in  the  garden  of  Lam- 
beth Palace,  in  the  time  of  Archbishop  Laud,  lived  there 
till  the  year  1753;  and  its  death  was  then  induced  seemingly 
through  misfortune  rather  than  old  age.  The  enormous 
creatures  of  this  kind,  natives  of  the  Galapagos,  undoubt- 
edly live  twice  or  thrice  as  long  as  the  common  species;  an 
individual  possessed  some  years  back  by  the  London  Zoolo- 
gical Society,  had  every  appearance  of  being  at  least  a 
hundred  and  seventy -five.  Even  these  immense  ages  were 
probably  far  exceeded  by  the  great  fossil  testudinata  of  the 
Himalayahs.  It  is  easy  to  see  the  cause  of  such  longevity. 
The  same  law  which  obtains  in  the  mechanics  of  inanimate 
matter,  operates  in  the  organisms  of  vitalized  matter, 
namely,  that  what  is  gained  in  time  must  be  lost  in  power. 
The  active  habits  which  in  shorter-lived  animals  accelerate 
the  vital  processes,  and  bring  the  lease  to  an  early  close, 
here  are  no  longer  found.  The  tortoises  have  no  excitable 
nervous  system  to  Avear  out  the  durable  materials  encased  in 
their  impenetrable  armor;  they  spend  the  greater  part  of 
their  lives  in  inactivity,  and  exist  rather  than  live.  By 
analogy,  it  may  be  inferred  that  the  loricate  and  ophidian 
reptiles  reach  an  age  fully  as  advanced  as  the  tortoises. 


LEASES  OF  LIFE  IN  INSECTS. 


161 


The  crocodile,  large,  strong,  vigorous,  enclosed  in  a hard  coat 
of  mail,  and  incredibly  voracious,  is,  without  doubt,  exceed- 
ingly long-lived.  The  larger  serpents,  also  slow  in  growth, 
and  passing  a considerable  portion  of  their  lives  in  semi- 
torpor, are  also  unquestionably  longseval.  Feeding  vora- 
ciously, at  long  intervals,  so  familiar  in  the  case  of  serpents, 
seems  invariably  associated  with  prolonged  life.  As  regards 
the  Amphibia,  Smellie  refers  to  a toad  known  to  have  been 
at  least  thirty-six.  The  frog,  which,  by  reason  of  its  slow 
growth,  in  this  climate  at  least,  is  incapable  of  producing 
young  till  its  fourth  year,  reaches,  however,  what  in  propor- 
tion to  this  late  puberty  is  the  very  inconsiderable  age  of  no 
more  than  from  twelve  to  about  sixteen. 

98.  Insects,  for  the  most  part,  are  short-lived,  especially 
after  their  last  transformation.  Some,  after  acquiring  their 
wings,  live  only  for  the  remainder  of  the  day.  In  calculat- 
ing the  ages  of  insects,  of  course  they  must  be  reckoned 
from  the  hatching  of  the  egg.  Different  species  exist  two, 
three,  and  even  four  years  in  the  grub  state;  then  a con- 
siderable time  in  the  chrysalis;  the  winged  state  being 
merely  that  of  completed  maturity.  That  which  especially 
marks  the  latter  is  the  fitness  of  the  creature  for  propaga- 
tion ; and  this,  as  the  period  of  its  bloom,  is  also  the  briefest. 
The  Ephemerae,  in  their  winged  state,  are  not  even  creatures 
of  a day.  Scarcely  a single  gnat,  as  such,  survives  a week; 
not  half  the  beetles,  nor  any  of  the  grasshoppers  nor  Tipulie, 
those  long-legged  dancers  of  the  autumn,  enters  on  a second 
month;  a fortnight  sees  the  death  of  almost  every  kind  of 
butterfly  and  moth.  One  of  the  longest-living  insects  is  that 
brilliant  beetle,  the  Scarabceiis  auratus,  or  Eose-chaffer,  the 
only  one  that  feeds  upon  the  flower  from  which  it  takes  its 
English  name.  After  four  years  spent  as  a grub,  and  a 
fortnight  as  a chrysalis,  it  has  lived  in  captivity  from  two  to 
14 


162 


GENERAL  CAUSES  OF  LONGEVITY. 


three  years  more.*  That  curious  hut  treacherous  and  cruel 
creature,  tlie  Mantis  religiosa,  or  Praying  cricket,  ^vlHch 
holds  up  the  foremost  pair  of  its  long,  desiccated,  skeleton 
legs,  as  if  in  the  act  of  prayer,  is  said  to  attain  a full 
octave. 

99.  Whatever  errors  there  may  be  in  the  particular 
figures  above  quoted,  the  general  principles  which  they 
illustrate  are  indisputable.  Whatever  class  of  organisms 
we  may  take,  the  ground  of  longer  or  shorter  life  lies  uni- 
versally in  the  structure,  the  temperament,  and  the  less  or 
greater  vital  energy.  We  have  seen  how  this  is  manifested 
in  regard  to  the  aggregate  of  organic  nature ; also  how  it  is 
verified  in  respect  to  plants ; it  obtains  with  animals,  in  their 
several  tribes  and  species,  after  precisely  the  same  manner, 
only  that  the  phenomena  are  played  forth  in  greater  variety, 
and  in  costumes  appropriate  to  the  nobler  stage.  All  the 
diversities  in  the  duration  of  animal  life  may  be  referred 
perhaps  to  the  two  general  heads — of  Size,  as  regards  the 
substance  of  the  creature,  and  Energy,  as  regards  its  vital 
powers.  Other  circumstances  are  but  adjuncts,  though  in- 
separably connected  with  and  conditional  on  them.  All 
the  longseval  creatures,  like  all  the  longseval  trees,  are  con- 
siderable in  their  bulk ; at  all  events  they  are  the  largest 
forms  of  their  respective  tribes,  the  swan,  for  example, 
among  birds,f  and  the  crocodile  among  reptiles ; the 
smallest  forms,  on  the  other  hand,  are  alw^ays  the  shortest- 
lived.  The  reason  cor^iists  in  the  ampler  command  which 
they  possess  over  the  world  around  them.  As  the  colossal 
tree  owes  its  longer  ity  to  its  immense  feeding-surface  of 


* See  for  an  entertaining  aecount  of  the  keeping  this  beautiful  in- 
fieet  as  a pet,  ‘‘Episodes  of  Insect  Life,’^  vol.  ii.,  p.  70. 

f The  ostrieli,  as  tlie  largest  of  birds,  is  undoubtedly  the  longest 
liver,  l)ut  nothing  is  known  with  certainty  ns  to  its  lease. 


GENERAL  CAUSES  OF  LONGEVITY. 


163 


green  leaf,  so  the  largely-developed  animal  lives  longer  than 
the  little  one,  because  it  possesses  more  vital  capacity,  more 
contact  with  external  nature,  more  scope  and  opportunity 
for  acquiring  strength  of  every  kind ; there  is  also  greater 
power  of  resisting  what  is  inimical  to  life,  as  intense  cold, 
though  marvelous  examples  of  the  latter  property  occur 
among  those  living  riddles,  the  animalcules.  Great  size, 
however,  does  not  carry  long  life  with  it  necessarily.  More 
intimately  connected  with  longevity  even  than  bulk,  is  the 
greater  or  less  intensity  of  the  vital  action ; in  proportion 
to  the  rapidity  with  which  an  animal  lives,  is  invariably  the 
brevity  of  its  lease.  That  is,  of  two  animals,  alike  in 
regard  to  bulk,  that  one  will  have  the  shortest  duration 
which  lives  the  fastest,  and  that  one  the  longest  which  lives 
slowest.  The  expression  “fast  living,’’  now  so  commonly 
applied  to  extravagant  expenditure  of  the  resources,  involv- 
ing premature  stoppage  and  decay,  is  not  a mere  phrase  of 
gay  society ; it  denotes  a condition  of  things  which  in  nature 
is  sometimes  normal.  The  two  great  kingdoms  of  organ- 
ized nature  are  physiologically  characterized  in  fact,  by  this 
very  thing.  It  is  because  trees  live  so  slowly  that  they 
endure  for  centuries,  and  because  animals  live  so  fast  that 
few  of  them  reach  fifty.  All  the  longseval  animals  have  a 
relatively  lower  vital  energy ; all  the  short-lived  (or  at  least 
such  as  attain  any  considerable  bulk)  possess  it  in  excess. 
As  a result  of  this  condition,  we  usually  find  the  longseval 
creatures  deliberate  and  stately  in  their  movements,  and 
leading  calm  and  placid  lives,  as  the  elephant,  the  giraffe, 
and  the  swan ; while  the  short-lived  ones  are  as  remarkable 
for  their  sportive  restlessness,  as  they  course  about  the  fields, 
or  sail  through  the  sky  or  water.  Creatures  that  run  much 
are  rarely,  if  ever,  long-lived.  In  the  vegetable  kingdom  it 
is  the  same ; the  longseval  tree  is  like  tlie  elepliant  it  sliades, 
tranquil  and  august;  the  gourd  that  dies  with  the  close  of 


164 


REPHODTTCTION  AND  LONGEVITY. 


summer  is  rampant  and  wanton.  In  the  wliole  compass  of 
nature,  perhaps  there  is  nothing  more  full  of  quiet  grandeur 
than  the  sacred,  ever-verdant  cedar  of  twenty  centuries. 

100.  Tlie  circumstances  of  animal  life  which  hear  inti- 
mate relation  to  its  lease,  though  not  immediately  promotive 
or  preventive  of  longevity,  are  chiefly,  as  in  plants,  those 
connected  with  Keproduction.  Early  puberty,  which  in 
plants  forebodes  an  early  death,  similarly  announces  it  in 
animals,  for  it  shows  that  maturity  will  soon  be  reached, 
and  we  scarcely  need  the  proverb*  to  learn  what  happens 
next.  Contrariwise,  those  creatures  live  the  longest  which 
are  latest  in  acquiring  ability  to  procreate.  The  long  life 
of  man,  for  example,  follows  as  a natural  sequence  upon  his 
protracted  infancy.  Other  animals  of  his  size  begin  to  pro- 
pagate after  a much  earlier  anniversary  of  birth  than  he 
does ; they  attain  their  puberty  in  a few  years,  or  even 
months ; waiting  for  it  the  seventh  part  of  a century,  man 
is  compensated  at  the  end.  The  period  occupied  in  gestation 
is  remarkably  correlative  with  the  term  of  life.  The  longer 
time  an  animal  requires  for  its  formation  in  its  mother’s 
womb,  the  more  extended  is  its  life ; the  shorter  the  period 
between  conception  and  birth,  the  less  is  the  lease  extended. 
The  duration  of  gestation  is  of  course  largely  determined 
by  the  creature’s  size  and  organization  in  general.  The 
bulky  elephant  goes  with  young  no  less  than  twenty  months, 
and  lives  a century  and  a half ; the  puny  rabbit  requires 
only  thirty  days,  and  dies  in  eight  years.  What  is  reputed 
concerning  the  long  life  of  the  swan  becomes  credible  when 
tested  by  this  law;  for  incubation  in  birds  corresponds  to 
gestation  in  mammals,  and  no  bird,  unless  the  ostrich,  is  so 
slow  in  hatching  its  eggs.  The  law,  like  all  others,  belongs 


* Quod  cito  fit,  cllo  peril.  which  is  quickly  formeef  quickly 

perishes.’’  Vulgarly,  ‘SSoon  ripe,  soon  rotten.” 


GESTATION  AND  LONGEVITY. 


165 


as  mucli  to  plants,  wherein  the  gestation  of  animals  is  pre- 
figured in  the  ripening  of  the  fruit.  The  longieval  trees  are 
among  the  first  to  open  their  flowers  (the  instruments  of 
vegetable  coition),  yet  their  seeds  are  the  latest  to  become 
ripe,  the  whole  season,  from  early  spring  to  the  close  of 
autumn,  being  required  for  their  proper  maturation.  Thus, 
though  the  yew  blossoms  in  March,  or  several  weeks  before 
the  apple,  its  berries  are  not  ripe  till  the  end  of  October ; 
the  box-tree  opens  its  flowers  at  the  same  time,  but  is 
scarcely  parturient  till  winter.  Many  kinds  of  pine-trees, 
also  the  cedar,  and  several  oaks,  as  Quercus  Cerris,  suber, 
and  rubra,  all  of  them  long-lived,  require  two  seasons  to 
bring  their  fruits  to  perfection.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
short-lived  perennials,  and  annuals  universally,  complete  the 
whole  process  of  reproduction,  from  the  opening  of  the 
flowers  to  the  ripening  of  the  seed,  in  the  course  of  some  six 
or  seven  weeks?  In  the  mistletoe  occurs  a curious  excep- 
tion. Like  the  yew  and  the  box,  it  blossoms  early  in  the 
spring,  and  ripens  its  berries  certainly  no  sooner,  perhaps 
not  till  near  Christmas,  yet  it  is  by  no  means  a longseval 
plant.  How  are  we  to  account  for  this  ? May  it  be  refer- 
able to  the  parasitic  nature  of  the  plant,  being  dependent 
on  plunder  for  its  sustenance  ? 

101.  The  number  of  young  produced  at  a birth  is  again 
correlative  with  the  duration  of  life.  The  longest-living 
animals  produce  the  fewest,  while  the  shortest-lived  are  also 
the  most  proliflc.  The  female  elephant,  rhinoceros,  hippo- 
potamus, and  camel,  never  have  more  than  one  at  a birth ; 
the  horse,  the  ox,  the  stag,  one,  and  occasionally  two ; the 
goat  and  the  sheep  have  from  one  to  three  or  four ; the  leo- 
pard and  tiger,  four  or  flve ; the  dog,  the  fox,  and  the  cat, 
three  to  six ; the  rabbit,  four  to  eight ; the  guinea-pig,  the 
most  proliflc  of  the  mammalia,  four  to  twelve.  In  the  hu- 
man race,  where  the  lease  of  life  is  considerable  in  proper- 


166 


FECUNDITY  AND  LONG  LIFE. 


tion  to  the  size  of  tlie  body,  twins  come  only  once  in  every 
seventy  or  eighty  births ; triplets  only  once  in  seven  thou- 
sand.* About  fifteen  seems  the  highest  number  of  young 
ever  produced  at  one  birth  among  the  warm-blooded  ani- 
mals; in  hict,  a larger  number  would  be  incompatible  with 
the  economy  of  utero-gestation,  and  subsequently  with  that 
of  the  maternal  nourishment,  the  fountains  of  which  are 
usually  about  double  the  number  of  the  young  produced  at 
a birth.  It  would  be  incompatible,  also,  with  the  fair 
sharing  of  the  earth’s  surface,  and  thus  with  the  fine  ba- 
lance, harmony,  and  proportions  of  nature.  The  economy 
of  incubation  puts  a similar  limit  to  the  number  of  eggs 
that  a bird  hatches  at  once,  which  is  seldom  less  than  two 
or  three,  and  never  above  sixteen.  The  most  astonishing 
cases  of  fecundity  occur  among  fishes  and  insects.  In  the 
genus  Cyprinus  among  the  former,  comprising  the  carp,  the 
barbel,  the  tench,  the  bream,  &c.,  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
ova  have  been  counted ; and  in  the  common  cod,  several 
millions.  Crustaceous  animals  often  produce  many  thou- 
sands ; and  the  Batrachians,  some  hundreds  at  the  least. 
Like  the  preceding,  this  great  principle  is  exemplified  also 
in  plants.  The  number  of  seeds  produced  by  annuals  and 
short-lived  plants  is  infinitely  greater  than  trees  usually 
yield ; for  though  in  the  aggregate  of  their  crops  of  fruit 
trees  are  so  fertile,  in  the  strict  physiological  sense  they  are 
few-seeded,  and  not  infrequently  only  one-seeded.  In  com- 
paring plants  and  animals  as  to  their  productiveness,  we 
must  remember  that  a tree  is  a nation,  every  bough  a pro- 
vince, every  branch  a large  district ; we  have  to  consider, 
therefore,  not  the  sum  total  of  the  produce  of  the  entire 


* Til  is  proportion  is  not  universal,  varying  with  different  nations. 
The  Greenland  women  seareely  ever  have  twins;  whereas  among 
the  people  of  Chili  they  are  remarkably  common. 


LEASE  OF  HUMAN  LIFE. 


167 


number  of  flowers — the  total,  for  instance,  of  the  acorns 
upon  an  oak: — but  bow  many  seeds  are  produced  by  each 
separate  and  independent  flower,  which  is  the  real  equiva- 
lent of  the  animal,  the  tree  itself  being  equivalent  to  a 
whole  herd  of  quadrupeds,  or  a whole  city-full  of  mankind. 
Thus,  the  flowers  of  the  oak-tree,  which  lives  above  a thou- 
sand years,  produce,  like  the  elephant,  only  one  at  a birth ; 
the  flowers  of  the  apple-tree,  about  ten ; those  of  the  straw- 
berry-plant (a  perennial),  more  than  a hundred ; those  of 
the  poppy  (an  annual),  eight  thousand.  That  there  is  an 
exact  ratio  between  the  productiveness  of  a plant  and  the 
period  to  which  it  lives,  is  by  no  means  asserted.  There 
are  plenty  of  few-seeded  annuals,  and  of  many-seeded  peren- 
nials ; but,  as  a rule,  the  former  are  more  fecund.  Puff- 
balls and  parasitic  fungi,  the  most  ephemeral  of  plants,  cast 
their  seeds  into  the  atmosphere  like  impalpable  dust,  agree- 
ing in  their  fecundity  with  fishes.  The  quantity  of  fruit 
produced  by  the  entire  tree  or  plant,  corresponding  as  it 
does  to  the  population  of  a country,  has  its  own  laws  of  in- 
crease and  fluctuation,  and  is  a different  matter  altogether 
from  fertility  of  the  species,  as  correlative  with  lease  of  life. 
When  we  find  longsevals  very  fecund,  it  is  probably  because 
their  produce  is  an  important  food  to  some  creature  of  supe- 
rior rank.  How  few  acorns  ever  become  oaks. 

102.  What  may  be  the  lease  of  Human  life,  is  a question 
for  which  the  Psalmist  is  almost  universally  acknowledged 
to  have  provided  a final  answer : “ The  days  of  our  years  are 
three  score  years  and  ten,  and  if  by  reason  of  strength  they  be 
four  score  years,  yet  is  their  strength  labor  and  sorrow,  for  it  is 
soon  cut  off,  and  we  flee  away.’’  There  are  plenty  of  examples, 
however,  of  longevity  far  exceeding  even  the  higher  figures, 
accompanied  by  retention  of  all  the  faculties  and  powers 
the  exercise  of  which  forms  the  true  life  of  man.  Arguing 
from  these,  it  has  been  thought  that,  by  using  proper  means, 


168 


LEASE  OF  HUMAN  LIFE. 


an  age  of  no  less  than  two  centuries  may  be  attained;  less 
ambitious  minds  have  been  content  to  lio})e  for  a century 
and  a half;  in  Genesis  itself  one  liundred  and  twenty  years 
are  fixed,  (vi.  3.)  Buffon  considered  that  the  maximum 
need  never  be  under  ninety  or  a hundred,  wliicb  ‘Hbe  man,’’ 
says  be,  ‘‘  who  does  not  die  of  accidental  causes,  everywhere 
reaches.”  Flourens,  the  latest  writer  upon  the  subject,  con- 
curs in  the  opinion  of  bis  famous  countryman:  A hundred 
years  of  life  is  what  Providence  intended  for  man;  it  is  true 
that  few  reach  this  great  term,  but  hoiv  few  do  what  is  iieces- 
sary  to  attain  it!  Witli  our  customs,  our  passions,  our  mi- 
series, man  does  not  die — lie  kills  himself  If  we  observe 
men,  we  shall  see  that  almost  all  lead  a nervous  and  conten- 
tious life,  and  that  most  of  them  die  of  disapj)ointment. 
How  few,  comparatively,  number  even  the  three  score  and 
ten!  The  weakness  of  infancy,  the  intemperance  of  the 
adult  period,  the  violence  of  diseases,  the  fatality  of  acci- 
dents, and  other  circumstances  similarly  inimical  to  long 
life,  prevent  more  than  about  seventy  persons  in  every  thou- 
sand attaining  natural  old  age.  There  is  great  solace,  never- 
theless, in  the  thought  of  what  may  be  reached.  Haller, 
who  has  collected  a great  number  of  examples  of  long  life, 
reckons  up  more  than  a thousand  instances  of  individuals 
having  attained  the  age  of  one  hundred  to  one  hundred  and 
ten,  sixty  of  one  hundred  and  ten  to  one  hundred  and  twenty, 
twenty-nine  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  to  one  hundred  and 
thirty,  fifteen  of  one  hundred  and  thirty  to  one  hundred  and 
forty,  six  of  one  hundred  and  forty  to  one  hundred  and  fifty, 
and  one  of  one  hundred  and  sixty-nine.  Curtis,  but  without 
the  credibility  of  Haller,  cites  one  hundred  and  seventy-two, 
one  hundred  and  eighty-five,  and  two  hundred  and  seven, 
As  regards  tlie  life  of  the  Antediluvians,  before  the  question 
is  examiiKid  physiologically,  it  may  be  well  for  those  who  are 
curious  about  it  to  be  sure  what  the  inspired  narrative  really 


RELATION  OF  MATURITY  TO  TERM  OF  LIFE.  169 


means.  When  the  belief  that  the  names  of  the  patriarchs 
denote  communities  rather  than  individuals,  shall  be  shown 
to  be  more  at  variance  with  the  spirit  and  the  object  of  the 
sacred  records  than  the  popular  opinion  is,  it  will  be  time  to 
take  it  up  as  a matter  of  science.  A noted  living  theologian 
suggests  from  out  of  one  of  the  darkest  caves  of  literalism, 
that  our  first  parents  did  actually  eat  of  the  Tree  of  Life, 
and  that  its  virtue  was  transmitted  through  several  successive 
generations,  till  at  last  it  became  dissipated  and  lost,  and 
man  was  reduced  to  a miserable  tithe  of  his  first  possession.* 
103.  Flourens  fixes  a hundred  as  the  normal  life  of  man 
on  the  principle  that  there  is  an  exact  ratio  between  the 
period  occupied  in  growing  to  maturity  and  the  full  term  or 
lease  of  existence,  a principle  which  he  shows  pretty  conclu- 
sively to  prevail  throughout  the  whole  of  the  mammalia. 
Aristotle  was  the  first  to  enunciate  this  great  doctrine;  Buf- 
fon  the  first  to  throw  it  into  coherent  shape.  As  set  forth 
by  the  latter,  it  teaches  that  every  animal  lives,  or  at  least 
is  competent  to  live,  from  six  to  seven  times  as  many  years 
as  it  consumes  in  growing.  The  stag,  he  tells  us,  is  five  or 
six  years  in  growing,  and  lives  thirty-five  or  forty  in  all ; the 
horse  is  about  four,  and  lives  to  be  twenty-five  or  thirty.  “ One 
thing  only,”  says  Flourens,  “ was  unknown  to  Buffon,  namely, 
the  sign  that  marks  the  term  of  growth.”  This  is  the  essen- 
tial point;  it  is  by  having  determined  the  sign  that  Flourens 
has  vitalized  the  doctrine,  which,  so  long  as  it  lay  undisco- 
vered, was  little  better  than  a speculation.  There  might  be 
no  hesitation  in  conceding  the  theory;  but  until  the  basis 
of  the  calculation  could  be  indisputably  shown,  there  could 


* See,  on  the  non-literal  character  of  the  statements  respecting  the 
ages  of  the  Antediluvians,  Lev.  E.  D.  EendelFs  ^‘Antediluvian 
History,”  chapter  xviii.,  (1850),  also  the  “ Prospective  Eeview,”  vol. 
\i.,  p.  251. 

15 


H 


170 


MATURITY  MARKED  IN  THE  RONES. 


be  no  security  felt  in  the  conclusions.  Still,  it  was  a grand 
idea — one  of  those  fine  truths  in  outline  which  nature  seems 
to  delight  in  sketching  on  the  thoughts  of  imaginative  men, 
and  filling  up  gradually  and  at  leisure.  The  maturity  of 
the  body  in  general  of  course  consists  in  the  maturity  of  all 
its  parts,  but  the  period  of  such  maturity  differs  almost  as 
much  as  the  parts  themselves.  The  muscles,  the  composition 
of  the  vocal  apparatus,  even  the  eye-brows,  have  their  re- 
spective periods  of  perfect  development,  and  were  we  mi- 
nutely acquainted  with  every  particular  of  the  body,  each 
would  probably  furnish  the  sign  required.  Flourens  finds 
it  in  the  Bones.  The  bones  are  the  basis  of  the  whole  sys- 
tem ; they  are  the  first  principle,  so  to  speak,  of  its  configu- 
ration; they  support,  defend,  and  contain  the  nobler  organs. 
To  fulfill  these  functions,  they  uniformly  require  to  be  pos- 
sessed of  the  three  mechanical  properties  of  firmness,  light- 
ness, and  tenacity,  and  in  order  to  these  it  is  needful  that 
they  be  exquisitely  organized.  We  are  apt  to  suppose,  from 
the  hardness  and  durability  of  bones,  that  even  in  the  living 
body  they  are  scarcely  Autal ; that  they  should  be  subjects 
of  gradual  and  delicate  growth,  seems  almost  impossible  to 
conceive.  But  minute  anatomy,  the  most  pleasing  and  re- 
warding part  of  the  science  of  the  human  fabric,  shows 
bones  to  be  as  full  of  life,  in  their  degree,  as  any  of  the 
softer  parts,  and  that  the  organization  is  inferior  to  none. 
In  order  that  they  shall  possess  the  three  properties  alluded 
to,  bones  are  formed  of  two  principal  ingredients,  an  animal 
matter  and  an  earthy  matter,  intimately  interblended.  In 
the  bones  of  the  infant  the  quantity  of  earthy  matter  is  com- 
paratively small,  and  the  animal  substance  itself  is  softer 
than  at  later  periods.  As  it  grows,  however,  the  proportions 
change;  the  animal  matter  becomes  firmer;  earthy  particles 
are  deposited  in  it  abundantly,  and  the  bone  gradually  as- 
sumes its  j)roper  density.  The  total  of  the  process  constb 


HOW  OSSIFICATION  PROCEEDS. 


171 


tutes  “ossification.”  The  proportion  of  earthy  to  animal 
matter  is  not  the  same  in  the  different  bones.  The  maximum 
occurs  in  those  of  the  head;  the  long  bones  of  the  limbs 
have  the  next  largest  quantity,  those  of  the  upper  limbs  ex- 
ceeding the  lower;  and  last  of  all  come  the  bones  of  the 
trunk.  Thus,  the 


Earthy  matter. 


Temporal  bone  contains 63*50 

Humerus  “ 63*02 

Femur  62*49 


Animal  matter. 

36*50 

36*98 

37*51 


The  earthy  matter  is  not  deposited  in  every  part  at  once ; it 
spreads,  so  to  speak,  from  ossific  centres,  gradually  diffusing 
itself  throughout  the  mass.  This  is  of  the  utmost  import- 
ance to  observe,  for  it  is  upon  this  apparently  trifling  cir- 
cumstance that  the  whole  of  the  conclusions  are  primarily 
founded.  In  all  the  long  bones,  as  those  of  the  legs  and 
arms,  there  are  portions  at  the  extremities  which,  at  first,  or 
in  the  child,  are  united  to  the  intermediate  portion  only  by 
the  cartilage  or  animal  matter  of  which  the  bone  then  prin- 
cipally consists.  These  end-portions  of  the  bone  (called  its 
epiphyses)  are  ossific  centres — points  at  which  the  deposition 
of  earthy  matter  commences,  and  from  which  it  gradually 
extends.  As  growth  proceeds,  ossification  progresses  from 
the  middle  part  of  the  bone  towards  the  epiphyses,  and 
from  the  epiphyses  towards  the  middle  part,  till  at  last  they 
are  joined  into  one  continuous  mass  of  hard,  completed 
bone.  As  soon  as  the  junction  is  efiected,  and  the  bone 
consolidated,  growth  is  completed,  and  the  sign  of  matu- 
rity established.  “As  long,”  says  Flourens,  “ as  the  bones 
are  not  united  to  their  epiphyses,  the  animal  grows ; when 
once  the  bones  and  their  epiphyses  are  united,  the  animal 
grows  no  more.”  Not  that  growth  is  completed  and  matu- 
ritv  established,  in  that  strict  sense  of  the  words  which 


1]2  MAN  FITTED  TO  LIVE  A HUNDRED  YEARS. 


would  imply  an  absolutely  stationary  condition  tliencefor- 
wards,  or  at  least  of  the  whole  body.  There  is  no  period 
when  the  system  is  absolutely  stationary ; it  is  always  either 
advancing  to  a state  of  perfection,  or  receding  from  that 
state.  The  skeleton  alone  remains  fixed.  ‘‘  It  is  true  that 
at  the  adult  age,  the  determinate  height  and  figure,  the  set- 
tled features,  and  in  man,  the  marked  moral  and  mental 
character,  naturally  gave  rise  to  the  supposition  that  a fixed 
point  has  been  attained ; but  a little  inquiry  soon  teaches  us 
that  the  individual  is  still  the  subject  of  j^rogressive  changes. 
The  capability  of  powerful  and  prolonged  muscular  exer- 
tion increases  for  some  years ; there  must  consequently  be  a 
change  in  the  muscular  tissue.  The  intellectual  faculties 
have  not  attained  their  maximum,  although  we  do  not  hesi- 
tate to  consider  them  mature ; we  must  therefore  infer  that 
there  is  a corresponding  development  in  the  substance  of 
the  brain.’’  In  the  camel,  Plourens  goes  on  to  say,  the 
union  of  the  epiphyses  to  the  bones  is  completed  at  eight 
years  old,  in  the  horse  at  five,  in  the  ox  at  four,  in  the  cat 
at  eighteen  months,  in  the  rabbit  at  twelve  months,  and  in 
every  case  the  duration  of  life  is  five  times,  or  pretty  nearly, 
the  age  of  the  creature  when  this  process  is  accomplished. 
Flourens  does  not  differ  essentially  from  Buffon  in  saying 
five  times  instead  of  six  or  seven  times  the  period  of  matu- 
rity, because  Buffon  fixed  maturity  at  earlier  epochs.  It  is 
the  same  thing  in  the  end  to  say  seven  times  five  with  Buf- 
fon, or  five  times  seven  with  Flourens.  In  man,  the  union 
of  the  epiphyses  to  the  bones  takes  place  at  twenty  years  of 
age,  and  as  observation  appears  to  establish  five  as  the  le- 
gitimate number  by  which  to  multiply  in  regard  to  the  re- 
mainder of  the  mammalia,  the  conclusion  is  that  five  times 
twenty,  or  a hundred,  is  the  normal  lease  in  our  own  spe- 
cies. If  the  principle  be  sound — and  there  is  no  reason  for 
distrust — to  determine  the  lease  of  life  in  animals  where  it 


LONGEVITY  INFLUENCED  BY  SEX  AND  MAEKIAGE.  173 

will  apply,  will  be,  for  the  future,  a comparatively  easy 
matter.  A few  careful  examinations  of  the  bones  in  grow- 
ing individuals  will  enable  the  period  of  maturity  to  be 
learned  with  certainty,  and  five  times  this  period  may  be 
inferred  to  be  the  lease.* 

104.  Numerous  facts  of  a miscellaneous  character  invite 
our  notice  in  regard  to  the  duration  of  human  life.  Coeteris 
paribus,  large  men  are  said  to  live  longer  than  little  ones ; 
married  men  longer  than  bachelors.  Celibacy  as  well  as 
marriage  has  its  advocates  in  this  respect,  the  fact  probably 
being  that  there  is  plenty  of  illustration  of  both  opinions, 
though  on  the  whole,  matrimony  certainly  has  the  advan- 
tage. We  may  reconcile  the  different  views  by  considering 
that  in  the  one  case  there  is  less  wear  and  tear  of  the  vital 
energy ; and  that  in  the  other  the  weakened  frame  is  re- 
stored and  replenished  by  the  tender  ofiices  of  afiection. 

If  two  lie  together  then  they  have  heat,  but  how  can  one 
be  warm  alone  As  a rule,  longevity  is  greater  in  women 
than  in  men.  Childbirth  and  its  antecedents  occasion  in- 
deed a considerable  loss  of  life ; the  age  of  puberty  carries 
off  eight  per  cent,  more  maidens  than  youths ; the  propor- 
tion of  deaths  in  parturition  is  one  in  one  hundred  and 
eight;  the  difference,  however,  which  these  losses  would 
seem  to  produce  disappears  in  the  general  average.  Either 
sex  may  calculate  their  probability  of  life  by  reckoning  the 
difference  between  the  age  already  attained  and  ninety. 


* For  a variety  of  other  and  curious  details  on  the  subject  of  the 
duration  of  life,  both  in  man  and  the  lower  animals,  such  as  it  is 
unnecessary  here  to  introduce,  the  student  may  refer  to  the  works 
of  Flourens,  Hufeland,  and  Buffon,  above  cited,  and  on  the  particu- 
lar subject  of  maturity,  to  the  article  “Age,’^  in  Todd’s  Cyclopaedia 
of  Pliysio^jgy.  See  also  the  reviews  of  Flourens  in  Blackwood  for 
May,  1855,  and  Colburn  for  July  of  the  same  year. 


174 


LONGEVITY  AFFECTED  BY  PURSUITS. 


Half  that  difference  is  wliat  the  assurance  offices  would  call 
their  ‘‘expectation.’’  For  example,  a man  of  forty  years 
old  has  fifty  between  his  age  and  ninety;  half  of  that  fifty  is 
twenty-five ; and  provided  he  is  free  from  any  undermining 
disease,  he  may  trust  that  for  those  twenty-five  years  he  will 
continue,  with  God’s  blessing,  to  enjoy  tiic  honor  and  privi- 
lege of  existence.  One  thing  it  is  important  to  remember — 
the  period  of  maturity  is  the  only  one  that  admits  of  pro- 
longation. Infancy,  childhood,  and  youth,  have  certain 
limits,  which  are  seldom  come  short  of  or  exceeded.  The 
same  in  old  age — it  cannot  endure  beyond  a certain  length 
of  time,  and  when  once  it  begins,  it  speedily  leads  to  the 
grave.  In  other  words,  neither  childhood  nor  old  age  can 
be  arrested ; middle  life  alone  can  be  stretched  out.  Of  the 
three  conditions  of  life  we  cannot  possibly  alter  the  first  and 
third,  for  they  are  out  of  our  control ; the  middle  one  we 
may  abbreviate  or  prolong,  since  it  is  left  for  us  to  deal 
with  as  we  choose.  The  influence  of  pursuits  and  occupa- 
tions on  the  duration  of  life  has  often  been  illustrated.  The 
average  is  said  to  be  with  clergymen  sixty-flve  years ; with 
merchants  sixty-two ; farmers  sixty-one ; military  men  fifty- 
nine  ; lawyers  flfty-eight ; artists  flfty-seven,  and  so  on.  Po- 
verty and  destitution  tend  to  shorten  life;  comfort  and 
happiness  to  prolong  it. 


CHAPTER  X. 


GMOUJSrnS  of  the  VAHIOUS  lease  of  life,  SPIEITUATj 
BASIS  OF  NATUBE. 

105.  The  primary,  essential  reasons  of  the  diversity  in 
the  duration  of  life  (as  distinct  from  the  proximate  or  phy- 
siological), are  comprised  in  the  law  of  Correspondence, 
and  the  law  of  Use,  the  two  great  principles  which  furnish 
the  whole  rationale  of  existence.  Correspondence  un- 
folds the  relation  of  the  material  world  to  the  spiritual,  and 
shows  the  first  Causes  of  visible  nature ; Use  instructs  us 
as  to  the  particular  Ends  for  which  the  various  objects  of 
creation  have  been  designed,  and  the  necessity  there  is  for 
every  one  of  them.  Springing  out  of  these  laws,  and  de- 
pendent on  them,  is  the  condition  of  Form,  by  which  term 
is  to  be  understood  not  merely  the  configuration  of  a thing, 
but  the  total  of  the  circumstances  which  establish  its  iden- 
tity, such  as  the  size,  organization,  and  vital  economy;  and 
according  to  these  last,  according  to  the  peculiarities  of  the 
Form,  is  eventually  determined  the  duration  of  the  life. 
The  inmost,  original  causes  of  the  diversity  in  the  lease  of 
life  we  thus  discover  in  spiritual  philosophy,  the  last,  con- 
cluding ones,  in  the  philosophy  of  nature.  We  should 
accustom  ourselves  thus  to  trace  things  to  their  first  begin- 
nings, whatever  may  be  the  subject  of  investigation.  Our 
mental  progress  is  immensely  contingent  upon  it ; desire  to 
discover,  and  success  in  finding  them,  are  the  surest  signs 
of  enlarging  intellectual  empire.  For  the  true  i)hilosophy 


176 


THE  Si'TRTTU.M.  WORLD. 


of  cause  and  effect  docs  not  consist  in  tlie  simple  determina- 
tion of  immediate  antecedents,  nor  is  it  satisfied  to  remain 
in  them.  Every  cause  is  itself  only  tlie  effect  of  a still  finer 
cause,  which  again  results  from  a yet  finer,  no  longer  phy- 
sical, necessarily,  and  the  wdiole  chain,  from  beginning  to 
end,  must  he  considered,  if  we  would  acquire  a just  notion 
of  the  last  effect.  Nowliereis  it  more  needful  to  investigate 
these  successive  causes  than  in  regard  to  the  duration  of 
life.  To  see  the  reasons  of  longer  and  shorter  life  purely  in 
its  organic  apparatus,  is  to  see  the  cause  of  Language  in  the 
movements  of  the  lips  and  tongue.  It  is  a truth,  but  not 
the  whole,  nor  the  vital  truth.  Every  physical  fact  is  the 
last  issue  and  expression  of  something  sj)iritual,  which  must 
be  sought  before  the  former  can  become  properly  intelligible, 
and  to  which  reason  will  direct  its  steps,  though  half-reason 
may  stand  indifferent  and  mocking. 

106.  With  Correspondence,  accordingly,  or  the  relations 
of  the  material  world  with  the  Spiritual,  lies  our  first  con- 
cern. To  enter  successfully  upon  the  consideration  of  it, 
obviously  requires  that  we  should  hold  clear  ideas  of  what 
the  material  and  the  spiritual  respectively  are.  Concerning 
these  we  must  therefore  primarily  inquire,  and  especially 
concerning  the  spiritual  w^orld.  Strictly,  the  consideration 
of  the  spiritual  expression  of  Life  should  precede  that 
of  the  spiritual  World.  The  obligation  to  take  the  latter 
before  its  time  comes  of  the  fact  that  all  great  truths  have 
many  points  of  contact,  whereby  it  becomes  impossible  to 
treat  intelligibly  of  any  one  of  them  without  approaching 
and  anticipating  others.  The  truth,  however,  of  the  general 
system  which  comprises  them  is  declared  by  it,  since  in  order 
to  the  harmony  of  a whole,  every  part  must  be  in  alliance, 
and  the  insulation  of  any  one  part  impracticable.  The 
spiritual  world  is  no  mere  abstraction.  Viewed  theologically, 
it  is  the  place  in  which  we  shall  consciously  reside  after  the 


THE  MATERIAL  WOKLL  REPRESENTATIVE  ONLY.  177 

death  of  our  material  bodies,  enjoying  its  sunshine,  or  walk- 
ing wretched  in  its  gloom,  according  as  we  have  adapted 
ourselves  during  our  time-life ; — viewed  philosophically,  it  is 
the  same  old  beautiful  world  of  God  with  which  we  are 
familiar  under  the  name  of  earth  and  sky,  only  on  a higher 
plane  of  creation,  and  prior  to  it.  When  we  would  think 
accurately  of  “Nature,”  we  must  not  confine  ourselves  to 
the  visible  world.  “Nature,”  in  the  full  sense  of  the  word, 
denotes  whatever  exists  externally  to  the  Creator,  not  having 
been  planned  by  human  contrivance,  or  executed  by  human 
labor,  thus  not  only  earth  and  sky,  but  the  heavenly  man* 
sions  also.  The  one  is  physical  nature;  the  other,  spiritual 
nature;  and  the  former  presupposes  the  latter.  The  world, 
say  rather  the  worlds, — those  sparkling  spheres  we  call  the 
planets  and  the  stars, — are  not  independent  and  original 
creations.  Every  one  of  them  is  derived  and  representa- 
tive, a sequence  and  disclosure  of  some  anterior  sphere  in 
the  spiritual  world.  Every  object  they  contain  is  of  similar 
history  and  origin,  a figure  demonstrating  the  spiritual,  and 
supported  by  it.  Not  that  the  physical  world  is  destitute 
of  Reality.  By  no  means  the  mere  illusion  of  the  mind 
which  certain  metaphysicians  would  have  us  believe, — for 
there  are  no  quintessential  metaphysics  that  can  gainsay 
common  sense, — the  material  world  is  emphatically  a Real 
one.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  quite  as  wrong  and  unphilo- 
sophical  to  think  of  it,  as  many  do,  as  primitive,  independent, 
self-supporting.  When  we  look  on  a beautiful  landscape, 
we  see  mountains,  trees,  rivers,  real  and  substantial  as  re- 
gards the  material  universe;  nevertheless,  only  images  of 
forms  originally  existing  in  a world  which  we  do  not  see,  and 
from  which  they  are  derived; — forms  that  are  neither  com- 
prised within  material  space,  nor  related  to  terrestrial  time, — 
forms  which  are  as  real,  therefore,  as  the  material;  yea, 
infinitely  more  so,  since  the  material  is  local  and  temporary, 


178 


SPIRITUAL  AND  NATURAL  SUBSTANCE. 


vvliereas  the  spiritual  is  unlimited,  and  the  home  of  immor- 
tality. Nothing  exists  except  by  reason  of  the  spiritual 
world;  whatever  pertains  to  the  material  is  purely  and 
simply  Effect; — a fact  in  itself  commending  the  spiritual  to 
our  philosophic  curiosity  and  affection,  since, — as  all  well 
know  who  are  ever  so  little  in  the  habit  of  meditating  upon 
things  not  present  to  the  bodily  sight, — it  is  only  by  think- 
ing of  the  invisible  productive  in  connection  with 

the  resulting  products^  that  the  latter  acquire  true  being,  life, 
beauty,  and  physiognomical  expression.  Seeing  how  the 
material  world  changes,  yet  how  permanent  it  is,  we  cannot 
persuade  ourselves  but  that  there  must  be  an  indestructible 
and  vigorous  something  which . underlies  and  from  time  to 
time  refashions  it, — something  which  is  the  same  yesterday, 
to-day,  and  forever.  AVhatever  shape  a material  organism 
may  possess,  nothing  but  spirit,  we  are  well  assured,  can  act. 
Only  by  virtue  of  force  communicated  from  something 
spiritual,  is  matter,  under  any  circumstances,  consolidated 
and  configured.  In  itself  matter  is  unable  to  effect  any- 
thing; it  passes  indifferently  from  mould  to  mould  without 
retaining  the  shape  of  any.  That  invisible,  potent  some- 
thing cannot  be  a mere  Energy  either.  A Cause,  that  is  to 
say,  an  active,  productive  force,  cannot  be  efficient  unless  it 
operate  from  and  through  a substance.  If  there  be  a spirit- 
ual world  at  all,  it  must  be  like  the  material  world,  substan- 
tial, Substance  must  not  be  confounded  with  matter.  Sub- 
stance is  a generic  term  ; matter  is  one  of  the  species  which 
it  includes.  Substance  is  that  which  is  indispensable  to  the 
being  of  a thing,  as  the  continent  of  its  sustaining  life.  For, 
to  be  is  the  same  as  to  be  alive,  which  is  to  be  a recipient  of 
life;  and  wherever  life  is  received,  whether  in  the  material 
world  or  tlie  S])iritual,  there  must  needs  be  a substance  to 
receive  it.  Granted,  the  substance  of  the  spiritual  world 
cannot  be  detected  or  defined  scientifically.  But  that  there 


SUBSTANCE  AND  MATTER. 


179 


is  such  a substance  may  nevertheless  be  affirmed,  just  as 
reasonably  as  when  we  hear  Echo,  we  may  affirm  an  echo- 
producing  instrument.  Spiritual  substances  are  none  the 
less  real  because  out  of  the  reach  of  chemistry  or  edge-tools, 
or  because  they  are  inappreciable  by  the  organs  of  sense. 
Indeed  it  is  only  the  grosser  expressions  of  matter  which  can 
be  so  treated,  and  which  the  senses  can  apprehend.  Heat 
and  electricity  are  as  truly  material  as  flint  and  granite,  yet 
man  can  neither  cut,  nor  weigh,  nor  measure  them ; while 
the  most  familiar  and  abundant  expression  of  all,  the  Air 
which  we  breathe,  can  neither  be  seen  nor  felt  till  put  in 
motion.  As  for  invisibility,  which  to  the  vulgar  is  the  proof 
of  non-existence,  no  warning  is  so  incessantly  addressed  to 
us,  from  every  dej)artment  of  creation,  as  not  to  commit  the 
mistake  of  disbelieving  simply  because  we  cannot  see. 
When  we  reflect  how  many  things  there  are  which  cannot 
be  measured  and  comprehended  even  by  Thought,  which 
nevertheless  are  true,  visibility  to  the  material  eye,  as  the 
test  of  reality,  sinks  to  the  least  and  lowest  value.  Each 
class  of  substances  is  real  in  relation  to  the  world  it  belongs 
to; — material  substances  in  the  material  world;  spiritual 
substances  in  the  spiritual  world;  and  each  kind  has  to  be 
judged  of  according  to  its  place  of  abode.  Distance  in  nature 
from  the  material  no  more  disproves  the  existence  of  the 
spiritual,  than  distance  in  space  disproves  the  existence  of 
the  bottom  of  the  sea.  The  common  notion  of  spirit  is  that 
of  an  attenuate  form  of  matter;  that  it  is  what  matter  would 
become  were  it  rarified  into  a perfectly  free,  fluent,  unfixed, 
unbounded  condition;  and  conversely,  that  matter  is  con- 
gealed or  concreted  spirit,  bearing  to  it  something  of  the 
same  relation  that  ice  does  to  steam,  or  a pastile  to  the 
fragrance  into  which  it  burns.  Spirit  and  matter  are  utterly 
and  incommensurably  distinct;  under  no  circumstances  are 


180  ART  DERIVED  FROM  THE  SPIRITUAL  WORLD. 


they  transformahle  or  convertible.*  To  deny  tlie  existence 
of  spiritual  substance,  is  to  assert  that  heaven  is  an  empty 
void,  whereas  St.  John  represents  it  as  a plenitude  of  objects 
and  scenery,  of  the  most  substantial  kind.  It  is  to  depopu- 
late it  also  of  its  angels,  who  if  they  be  real  enough  to  be 
persons,  must  assuredly  be  real  enough  to  consist  of  sub- 
stance. Unless  always  upon  the  wing,  they  must  likewise 
have  a substantial  surface  whereon  to  stand. 

107.  Lying  thus,  at  the  back  of  the  visible  and  sensible, 
the  spiritual  world  is  the  universal  fountain.  Therein  are 
contained  “the  invisible  things  of  God,”  which  are  “clearly 
seen  by  the  things  that  are  made.”  Therein,  likewise,  are 
contained  the  “patterns”  which  were  shown  to  Bezaleel  in 
the  mount.  That  history  of  Bezaleel  has  wonderful  instruc- 
tion in  it.  What  the  spiritual  world  is  to  the  spontaneous, 
objective  forms  of  nature,  it  is  also,  we  may  gather  from  it, 
to  Art,  which  like  those  forms,  is  not  an  ornament  placed 
upon  the  surface  of  the  world  from  without,  or  purely  by 
man,  but  an  outbirth  from  the  unseen  universe  within ; just 
as  the  verdure  of  the  fields  is  not  a carpet  laid  down  and 
spread  over  them,  but  an  outvegetation  of  hidden  seeds. 
All  the  men  who  have  been  greatest  in  Art  have  been  dis- 
tinguished by  their  consciousness  that  they  were  merely  reve- 
lators  of  spiritual  facts.  “Appeal  to  an  artist,  and  ask  him 
why  he  so  painted  any  given  heroic  head,  without  any 
old  “farnily  portrait”  to  guide  him.  If  he  be  a true  artist, 
a race  not  numerous,  he  will  say,  “ I could  not  do  otherwise. 
That  man  had  such  a temper,  such  a life,  in  him.  I,  there- 
fore, mastering  the  inward  spirit  of  the  man,  found  his 


* See,  on  the  grossness  of  the  popular  error,  its  prevalence,  and 
its  evil  tendencies,  Barclay’s  “Inquiry  into  the  Opinions,  Ancient 
and  Modern,  concerning  Life  and  Organization,”  chap,  iii.,  sec. 
II.  (1822.) 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY  OF  ART. 


181 


fashion  and  his  features  created  for  me  and  given  to  me.” 
Because  such  is  the  ultimate  origin  of  the  products  of  true 
art,  of  such,  that  is,  as  are  something  more  than  mere  ser- 
vile, tradesmen’s  copies  of  familiar  physical  objects,  there  is  a 
Natural  Theology  of  Art.  For  Art,  rightly  understood,  is  a 
portion  of  nature,  and  genuine  Natural  Theology  cannot 
take  either  part  without  the  other.*  Briefly,  as  the  Soul  is 
the  essential  Human  Body,  so  is  that  grand,  invisible,  im- 
perishable fabric  we  call  the  spiritual,  the  essential  World. 
The  spiritual  world  is  the  total  of  Essential  nature ; this 
visible,  material  world  is  a portion  of  Representative  nature, 
a portion  only,  because  the  little  planet  we  call  our  own  is 
the  covering  of  a very  minute  part  indeed  of  the  infinite 
spiritual  realm  which  is  its  parent.  Here  we  have  but  a 
few  detached  sketches  of  the  panorama  which  belongs  there, 
and  what  few  we  have,  albeit  they  are  so  lovely,  we  see  but 
“as  through  a glass,  darkly.”  It  will  not  be  so  always. 
The  spiritual  world  known  to  philosophy  is  no  other,  as  said 
before,  than  the  spiritual  world  of  the  hopeful  Christian — 
the  very  same  which  we  shall  consciously  inhabit  when  by 
death  we  cease  to  be  conscious  of  the  present.  Our  intro- 
duction in  this  life  to  mineral,  vegetable,  and  animal,  to 
air,  and  sky,  and  sun,  is  the  beginning  of  a friendship  that 
will  never  be  dissolved,  only  that  hereafter  we  shall  view 
things  as  they  really  are,  instead  of  their  effigies  and  pic- 
tures. In  this  world  we  do  not  so  much  live  as  prepare  to 
live,  nor  enj  oy  nature’s  sweet  amenities  so  much  as  prepare 
to  enjoy  them.  We  shall  leave  it,  but  we  shall  not  lose  its 
beauty;  we  shall  learn  rather  how  most  thoroughly  to  de- 
light in  it,  often  turning  in  pleased  remembrance  to  those 


* Excellently  set  forth  in  an  article  in  the  North  American  Re- 
view for  July,  1854,  “On  the  moral  significance  of  the  Crystal 
Palace.’^ 


16 


182 


EVIDENCE  OF  THE  SPIRITUAL  WORLD. 


early  days  which  now  we  reckon  as  onr  ‘‘life-time,”  and  to 
that  little  sphere  wliich  was  our  birtli-place  and  education. 

108.  Philo  Judaeus  calls  upon  us  to  observe  tliat  the  deri- 
vation of  the  physical  world  from  an  anterior  spiritual  world 
is  expressly  taught  in  the  book  of  Genesis : “ These  are  the 
generations  of  the  heavens  and  the  earth,  . . . and  of  every 
plant  of  the  field  before  it  was  in  the  earth,  and  of  every 
herb  of  the  field  before  it  grew which  words,  says  Philo, 
“do  manifestly  teach  that  before  the  earth  was  green,  ver- 
dure already  existed ; that  before  the  grass  sprang  in  the 
field,  there  was  grass,  though  it  was  not  visible.  The  same 
must  we  understand  from  Moses  in  the  case  of  everything 
else  which  is  perceived  by  the  external  senses ; there  were 
elder  forms  and  motions  already  existing,  according  to  which 
the  others  were  fashioned  and  measured  out.  The  things 
which  he  has  mentioned  are  examples  of  the  nature  of  all.”* 

109.  The  evidence  that  there  is  a spiritual  world  under- 
lying the  material,  is  quite  as  ready  and  plentiful  as  of  the 
material  world  itself,  if  men  will  but  look  for  it  in  the  right 
place,  and  consent  to  receive  it,  for  spectacles  are  less  needed 
than  willingness.  It  is  rarely  that  incapacity  hinders  the 
reception  of  truth ; rather  is  it  want  of  cordiality  to  give  it 
welcome.  We  speak  now,  of  course  it  will  be  understood, 
of  the  spiritual  world  as  a truth  of  Philosophy,  i.  e.,  as  the 
basis,  as  to  first  principles,  of  terrestrial  nature.  Most  men 
believe  in  it  under  the  name  of  “ Heaven,”  or  as  a country 
which  they  will  enter  after  death.  Few,  however,  think  of 
it  in  its  relation  to  existing  nature ; yet  so  to  regard  it  is  little 
less  important  to  enlarged  and  encouraging  views  of  Life, 
for  it  brings  heaven  into  our  daily  thoughts,  as  a living, 
familiar,  and  practical  Reality,  a thought  for  the  present,  for 
the  fields  and  the  woods,  for  the  hills  and  the  valleys,  instead 


On  the  Creation,  Chap.  xliv. 


EVIDENCE  OF  THE  SPIRITUAL  WORLD. 


183 


of  only  for  the  future,  at  church  on  Sundays,  and  nothing 
so  fills  the  soul  with  bright  ideas.  How  differently  the 
minds  of  men  are  constituted  with  regard  to  particular  kinds 
of  truth,  we  are  perfectly  aware.  Some  are  made  to  super- 
stition, some  to  enthusiasm,  others  are  inapt  for  either ; so 
that  what  in  many  cases  men  fancy  to  be  contest  for  “ truth,” 
is  simply  comparison  of  their  mental  tastes,  just  as  they 
compare  their  physical  likings  over  the  dining-table,  and 
fancy  they  are  contending  for  what  is  best.  Oftentimes, 
without  question,  this  will  account  for  their  insolicitude. 

Inductive  minds,”  says  Whewell,  those  which  have  been 
able  to  discover  laws  of  nature,  have  also  commonly  been 
ready  to  believe  in  an  Intelligent  Author  of  nature ; while 
deductive  minds,  those  which  have  employed  themselves  in 
tracing  the  consequences  of  laws  discovered  by  others,  have 
been  willing  to  rest  in  laws  without  looking  beyond  to  an 
Author  of  law^s.”  So  with  the  view^s  men  take  of  the 
material  world,  its  substance,  derivation,  and  life.  Deduc- 
tive minds  are  content  with  the  study  of  matter ; inductive 
minds  feel  themselves  invited  to  look  further.  But  it  is  still 
a question  of  willingness,  since  nothing  is  ever  sought  except 
from  the  heart.  There  is  something  more  even  than  willing- 
ness wanted.  Before  we  can  thoroughly  recognize  and  ap- 
prove a truth  superior  to  the  region  of  the  senses,  our  moral 
character  must  have  risen  into  harmony  with  it.  It  follows 
that  the  spiritual  world  is  not  a thing  to  be  argued  about. 
We  should  never  argue  with  a man  about  things  which 
require  for  their  understanding  a higher  plane  than  he  has 
risen  to ; until  he  has  lifted  himself  into  the  requisite  soul, 
he  cannot  be  expected  to  see  with  similar  eyes.  Show  him 
how  and  where  to  learn,  but  do  not  argue  with  him  till  he 
is  on  a level  with  your  own  vision.  Hence,  too,  the  utter 
worthlessness  of  the  usual  objection  to  the  doctrine  of  the 
spiritual  world,  that  it  has  no  place  in  popular  systems  of 


184 


PROOF  IN  ITS  VARIOUS  KINDS. 


philosopliy.  Some  men  reject  it  unconditionally — they 
simply  do  not  believe/’  It  is  very  convenient  to  conceal 
incuriousness  and  ignorance  under  the  name  of  scepticisniy 
and  thus  invite  the  community  to  suppose  that  superior 
acuteness  has  detected  unsoundness  in  what  actually  has 
never  been  even  looked  at. 

110.  Certainly,  the  proofs  of  spiritual  things  are  not  of 
the  same  kind  as  those  of  material  ones.  A man  must  not 
expect  the  same  species  of  proof  that  there  are  angels,  as 
of  the  existence  of  a railway  or  a tree.  What  visible,  sen- 
suous proof  is  to  the  material,  philosophical  induction  is  to 
the  spiritual,  and  when  this  is  assisted  and  borne  out  by 
Eevelation,  it  is  not  merely  as  good  a kind  of  proof,  but  an 
incomparably  better  and  more  cogent  one.  Not  from  the 
substance,  time,  and  space  of  the  material  world,  is  the 
spiritual  world  to  be  judged  of.  Like  the  soul,  which  is  a 
dweller  in  it,  it  must  be  thought  of  purely  from  the  soul. 
This  is  the  indispensable  course  in  every  inquiry  that  seeks 
to  end  in  something  better  than  grossest  materialism.  It  is 
because  people  will  persist  in  carrying  their  material  ideas 
with  them,  wherever  they  go,  that  the  soul  itself  has  become 
a mere  tradition,  and  the  idea  of  immortality  profaned  into 
a supposed  rebuilding  of  the  rotten  carcase  of  flesh  and 
blood.  While  we  should  unceasingly  strive  to  be  men  of 
sense,  we  should  remember  that  this  is  not  to  be  simply 
creatures  of  the  senses.  The  external  senses  are  among 
man’s  richest  inheritances,  still  are  they  only  the 

Fine  steps  whereby  the  Queenly  Soul 
Comes  down  from  her  bright  throne  to  view  the  mass 
She  hath  dominion  over. 

The  man  who  attends  only  to  what  his  senses  inform  him 
of,  imprisons  and  kills  the  better  half  of  his  nature.  He 
may  acquire  tolerable  knowledge  of  outlines,  weights,  and 


THE  SENSES  AND  THE  IMAGINATION. 


18o 


colors,  but  a philosopher  he  can  never  be.  With  the  dia 
grams  he  may  become  conversant,  but  not  with  that  sublime 
geometry  and  universal  arithmetic,  the  constructions  of 
which  form  the  real  history  of  nature.  The  philosophy 
which  the  outer  senses  teach,  dwells  where  they  do,  on  the 
surface  of  nature.  Their  business  is  simply  with  effects. 
Causes,  and  spiritual  things  are  seen  by  the  internal,  poetic, 
seventh  sense — that  divine  faculty  which  men  call  the  Ima- 
gination, the  clear-seeing  spiritual  eye  whereby  the  loftier 
and  inmost  truths  of  the  universe,  whether  they  be  scientific, 
or  religious,  or  philosophical,  can  alone  be  discerned.  We 
are  apt  to  suppose  that  to  acquaint  ourselves  with  nature,  dili- 
gent observation  and  experiment  will  suffice.  Not  so.  Na- 
ture has  secrets  which  Imagination  only  can  penetrate.  So 
grievously  has  the  imagination  been  perverted — so  widely 
has  the  fancy  been  mistaken  for  it — so  bad,  in  consequence, 
is  its  current  repute  as  to  its  relation  to  Truth,  that  the 
mere  mention  of  it,  in  connection  with  the  subject  in  hand, 
will  probably  provoke  many  a smile,  and  in  the  charitable 
awaken  compassion.  It  will  be  found,  nevertheless,  that  all 
the  greatest  minds  the  world  has  produced,  in  any  depart- 
ment of  inquiry  or  of  wisdom,  have  been  so  by  virtue  of 
their  imagination.  The  imagination  is  not,  as  many  sup- 
pose, hostile  to  truth.  “So  far  from  being  an  enemy  to 
truth,  the  imagination,”  says  Madame  de  Stael,  “ helps  it 
forward  more  than  any  other  faculty  of  the  mind.”  Of 
course  there  are  such  things  as  diseased  and  prostituted 
imaginations,  but  the  abuse  of  the  faculty  is  neither  its  qua- 
lity or  design.  Imagination  rightly  so  called,  presu23poses  an 
enlarged  and  tranquil  mind,  which  having  in  its  command 
a wide  property  in  living  nature  and  its  laws,  steps  to  un- 
discovered things  from  the  standard  of  the  known.  “ That,” 
says  Goethe,  “ is  no  true  imagination  which  goes  into  the 
vague,  and  devises  things  that  do  not  exist.”  Keason,  or  to 


186 


FUNCTIONS  OF  THE  IMAGINATION. 


use  a pieciser  term,  common  sense,  the  very  arbiter  of 
Truth,  and  imagination,  rightly  regarded,  are  each  other’s 
conu'plemeni.  To  esteem  them  as  contrary  comes  of  the  very 
same  mistake  as  that  which  asserts  reason  and  faith  to  be 
foes.  As  the  perfection  of  human  nature  is,  in  the  body, 
the  union  of  strength  and  beauty,  so  in  the  intellect  is  it  the 
union  of  common  sense  and  imagination.  Again  deceiving 
themselves,  many  suppose  that  the  imagination  is  constantly 
needing  a check.  Say  rather  that  it  constantly  needs  the 
spur.  Especially  is  this  the  case  in  Science  and  Eeligion, 
which  instead  of  having  suffered,  as  it  has  been  taught,  from 
excess  of  imagination,  suffer  rather  from  not  being  as  hos- 
pitable to  it  as  they  ought.  What  is  idolatry,  but  inapti- 
tude to  rise,  on  the  pinions  of  the  imagination,  from  the 
symbol  to  the  thing  symbolized  ? What  other  than  imagi- 
nation is  the  soul  and  centre  of  the  very  highest  act  of  reli- 
gion, or  faith  ? To  science,  to  philosophy  also,  imagination 
is  nothing  less  than  pioneer.  The  Columbus  of  the  human 
mind,  imagination  opens  the  way  for  observation  and  expe- 
riment, which  left  to  themselves,  know  not  in  what  direc- 
tion to  proceed,  and  find  their  way,  if  at  all,  slowly  and  by 
accident ; it  provides  us  with  the  clue  to  what  we  seek,  and 
enables  us  to  anticipate  the  answ^er  we  shall  receive.  Every 
true  investigation  is  the  working  out  of  some  noble  idea  of 
the  imagination ; no  great  discovery  was  ever  made  without 
employing  it.  It  is  the  vital  characteristic  of  the  Davys, 
the  Owens,  the  Faradays,  the  Herschels — of  all  to  whom  the 
world  is  indebted  for  its  highest  scientific  wealth.  Genius 
itself  might  be  defined  as  imagination  well  directed  and  well 
regulated.  With  all  his  science,  so  called,  the  m-imagina- 
tive  man  gives  us  only  the  osteology  of  the  rainbow;  it  is  the 
imaginative  or  poetic  one  who  delineates  its  life  and  beauty. 
Like  prisms,  the  men  of  imagination  convert  colorless  light 
into  ex(|uisitc  hues ; in  their  hands  does  the  merest  matter 


THE  HIGHEST  TRUTHS  BEYOND  PROOF. 


187 


of  prosaic  detail  become  lustrous  and  glorified.  Witness 
Garth  Wilkinson’s  noble  book  on  the  Human  Body,  which, 
were  it  re-written  in  verse,  would  be  the  finest  poem  in  the 
world.  Like  its  subject,  it  is  matter  and  spirit  united,  and 
“ common  sense”  from  beginning  to  end. 

111.  To  attempt,  therefore,  to  prove  that  there  is  a spiritual 
world,  i.  e.,  in  the  way  that  a material  or  physical  thing  is 
proved,  is,  after  all,  superfluous.  Those  to  whom  it  is  inte- 
resting are  conscious  of  it  of  themselves;  and  the  opposite 
class  logic  would  make  no  wiser.  In  a certain  sense  it  is 
above  and  beyond  proof ; yet  not  strangely  and  peculiarly  so. 
Not  one  of  the  greatest  truths  admits  of  proof  commonly  so 
called.  We  feel  them.  The  highest  of  all,  or  the  conscious- 
ness of  God,  we  ascend  into  intuitively  from  our  conscious- 
ness of  self.  That  God  exists,  and  that  it  was  he  who  created 
the  world,  and  who  sustains  it,  we  can  neither  prove”  to 
another,  nor  have  “proved”  to  ourselves;  and  the  same  with 
the  soul,  and  the  spiritual  world,  and  the  life  to  come.  For 
what,  in  fact,  is  it  “ to  prove,”  but  to  trace  a subordinate 
proposition  up  to  a higher,  or  rather,  to  a primary  truth  ? 
The  nearer  that  proposition  is  to  God  and  heaven,  the  further 
is  it  away  from  what  is  proveable.  Were  we,  in  short,  to 
refuse  to  receive  anything  until  “proved,”  we  should  remain 
strangers  for  ever  to  the-noblest  and  most  animating  subjects 
of  contemplation.  Proof,  rigid,  mathematical  proof,  belongs 
only  to  inferior  truths,  and  it  is  only  inferior  minds  that 
make  it  the  condition  of  their  acceptance.  If  such  minds 
be  often  characterized  by  their  credulity,  they  are  still 
oftener  marked  by  their  mcredulity.  “ Ignorance  is  always 
incredulous;  the  amplest  knowledge  has  the  largest  faith.” 
It  is  right,  without  doubt,  to  desire  proof;  it  is  a man’s  duty 
to  desire  it;  but  then  he  must  remember  that  many  things 
are  ttnproveable,  or  rather,  that  things  are  proveable  in  dif- 
ferent ways.  The  heart  and  imagination  have  their  eyes  as 


188  SCIENTIFIC  EVIDENCE  OF  THE  SPIRITUAL  WORLD. 

well  as  the  head  and  the  understanding.  Great  minds,  or 
those  in  which  the  capacity  for  reading  truth  is  quickest  and 
highest,  are  not  simply  intellectuar’  minds.  They  know 
what  they  have  to  believe  on  the  showing  of  the  feelings  and 
the  imagination,  and  of  such  things  they  never  demand 
“proof.’’  Not  he  is  the  wise  man  who  cunningly  thinks  to 
take  nothing  on  the  word  of  the  imagination,  but  he  who 
takes  what  nature  intends  he  should.  The  proof,  the  essen- 
tial and  best  proof  of  the  divine  origin  of  Christianity  and 
the  Bible,  does  not  consist  in  those  weary  piles  denominated 
the  Evidences,  historical,  archaeological,  and  so  forth,  which 
commend  themselves  only  to  low  and  unenviable  schools  of 
thought,  but  in  its  felt  adaptation  to  the  needs  and  aspira- 
tions of  the  soul. 

112.  Scientific  considerations  may  be  adduced  notwith- 
standing, both  in  proof  of  the  Spiritual  world,  and  of  its 
causative  action  into  the  physical.  Why  have  many  ani- 
mals, especially  the  saurians,  the  power  of  reproducing 
amputated  members?  How  is  it  that  when  the  foot  or  the 
tail  of  a lizard  is  torn  off,  a new  one  sprouts  in  its  place? 
One  of  two  things,  either  “nature  performs  a miracle,” 
which  is  an  indolent  hypothesis ; or  else,  which  is  a sufficient 
and  reasonable  explanation,  material  substances  mould  them- 
selves universally  upon  preexistent  spiritual  forms,  as  upon 
a model,  and  wait  upon  them  as  servitors.  The  reason 
usually  assigned,  namely,  that  the  lower  we  descend  in  the 
scale  of  organization,  the  more  is  life  diffused  throughout 
the  organism,  is  correct  to  a certain  point,  but  it  leaves  the 
enigma  where  it  was.  It  is  not  enough  to  be  told  that  in 
the  lower  animals  the  vital  mass  which  appears  as  brain  in 
the  higher  kinds,  is  dispersed  throughout  the  body;  and  that 
it  is  owing  to  this  dis])ersion  of  the  great  centre  of  life  into 
many  small,  sej)arate  centres,  that  the  tentacula  of  polyps, 
tlie  rays  of  the  star-lish,  the  entire  head  of  the  snail,  will 


PLANTS  IN  RELATION  TO  THE  SPIRITUAL  WORLD.  189 

grow  again  if  cut  off.  The  question  still  remains — why? 
Life,  like  any  human  constructive  power,  cannot  work  with- 
out a pattern ; nervous  centres  are  but  instrumental.*  Why 
the  wonderful  privilege  of  replacing  lost  members  of  the 
body  is  enjoyed  only  by  the  lower  tribes  of  animals,  and  not 
by  the  higher,  is  that  the  latter  are  enabled  to  make  them- 
selves amends  for  such  losses  in  other  ways.  The  office  of 
one  limb  or  member,  to  an  extent  sufficient  to  the  necessities 
of  life,  can,  in  effect,  be  executed  by  another;  while  man, 
for  his  part,  has  the  resources  of  mechanical  contrivance  in 
addition.  The  more  helpless  a creature  is,  the  more  amply 
is  it  always  befriended  with  compensating  gifts. 

113.  So  with  plants.  Why  does  the  acorn  always  produce 
an  oak,  and  never  an  elm  or  an  apple-tree;  why  the  bulb 
of  the  hyacinth  always  the  verisimilitude  of  its  fragrant 
cluster,  and  never  a cowslip  or  fleur-de-lis?  Simply  because 
in  the  acorn  the  spiritual  substratum  of  the  oak  already  in 
effect  exists ; and  in  the  bulb,  in  like  manner,  the  spiritual 
form  or  vegetable  soul  of  the  flower.  Hence  the  multifor- 
mity of  the  beautiful  pictures  in  wood  and  field,  and  their 
return  to  us,  year  by  year.  Every  wild  flower  comes  back 
in  its  perfect  lineaments;  in  the  early  spring  the  golden 
celandine  and  the  coltsfoot;  then  the  Mayflower  and  the 
woodruff,  then  the  forget-me-not,  bathing  its  feet  at  the 
w^ater-side ; and  so  onwards  till  the  purple  crocus  of  October. 
True,  they  unfold  themselves  from  roots  and  seeds,  lying 
concentrated  as  it  were  till  their  proper  season ; but  wanting 
a spiritual  form  to  clothe  with  stem  and  leaf,  a seed  could 


* The  power  of  reproducing  lost  parts  which  made  that  beautiful 
little  creature  the  Hydra  such  a miracle  to  first  observers,  and  sug- 
gested its  zoological  name,  appears  to  exist  in  scarcely  inferior  de- 
gree in  the  Actinias  or  Sea-anemones.  On  its  prevalence  in  the  Star- 
fishes consult  Forbes. 


190  6P1IUTUAL  FORMS  UNDERLYING  MATERIAL. 


no  ixj.ore  grow  than  a grain  of  sand.  The  real  reason  of  tlio 
flowers  is  that  every  line  of  beauty  in  nature  is  the  expres- 
sion of  a divine  thought,  and  inherits  the  iiriinortality  of  its 
first  development  in  the  spiritual  world.  It  is  in  spiritual 
philosophy,  and  in  this  only,  that  we  have  an  answer  also  to 
the  puzzling  question,  why  it  is  that  the  mules,  or  hybrids, 
both  animal  and  vegetable,  cannot  permanently  produce 
themselves;  why  also  the  graft  will  only  consort  with  a tree 
of  the  same  species  as  itself  Material  forms  may  be  coupled, 
and  a cross  be  procured  for  a brief  period,  but  it  is  impos- 
sible in  the  same  way  to  establish  spiritual  forms,  and  with- 
out these,  as  their  prototypes,  material  forms  cannot  be  pro- 
pagated. The  best  introduction  to  knowledge  of  what  con- 
stitutes a ‘‘species,’’  either  in  Zoology  or  Botany,  is  to  be 
sought  in  the  philosophy  of  spirit,  and  its  relation  to  matter. 

114.  So  even  with  inorganic  forms.  Why  do  salts  and 
metals  always  crystallize  in  determinate  shapes,  their  pro- 
portions and  angles  invariably  the  same?  Let  a number  of 
different  salts  be  dissolved  in  water,  and  they  will  sort 
themselves  out,  unassisted,  and  re-adjust  and  re-crystallize 
their  particles  in  the  precise  polyhedra  they  originally  pos- 
sessed. Clearly,  as  in  the  former  case,  this  is  because  there 
are  underlying  spiritual  forms,  sustained  by  the  Divine  life, 
and  which,  by  virtue  of  that  life,  draw  the  particles  together, 
each  to  its  own  body.  The  terms  chemical  affinity,  chemical 
attraction,  power,  property,  agency,  vis  Jormatrix,  &c.,  cur- 
rently used  when  speaking  of  the  consolidation  of  inorganic 
matter,  denote  nothing  more  than  the  action  of  the  Divine 
life,  under  different  methods,  through  the  medium  of  spiritul 
creations  in  the  first  place. 

115.  On  the  dim  and  half-traditional  perception  that  or- 
ganic forms  repose  upon  an  interior  spiritual  form,  was  built 
the  Alchemists’  beautifid  doctrine  of  the  palingenesis^  or 
resuscitation  by  art,  of  the  spirits  of  plants  and  flowers. 


THE  alchemist’s  DOCTRINE  OF  PALINGENESIS.  191 

‘‘Never/’  says  the  historian  of  the  Curiosities  of  Literature, 
“was  a philosophical  imagination  more  beautiful  than  that 
exquisite  palingenesis  of  the  admirable  school  of  Borelli, 
Gaffarel,  and  Digby.”  The  way  in  which  the  resuscitation 
was  supposed  to  be  brought  about,  was  to  burn  a flower  to 
ashes,  and  place  them  in  a phial;  then  to  add  a certain 
chemical  mixture,  and  warm  it;  when  there  would  slowly 
rise  a delicate  apparition  of  stalk,  and  leaf,  and  blossom, 
successively,  faithful  as  the  lovely  transcripts  of  scenery  in 
still  water,  “the  phantastical  plant”  disappearing  into  no- 
thingness as  the  heat  gradually  declined.  Southey,  in  the 
second  volume  of  the  “ Omniana,”  gives  a full  account  both 
of  the  doctrine  and  of  the  manipulation  requisite  to  pro- 
duce these  curious  phantoms.  That  they  were  actually 
exhibited  by  the  alchemists,  there  would  seem  to  be  no 
doubt;  having  been  produced,  it  is  not  unlikely,  by  tracing 
the  figures  of  the  plants  and  flowers  on  the  glass  reputed  to 
contain  their  spirits,  with  chloride  of  cobalt,  drawings  made 
with  which  salt  are  invisible  till  brought  near  the  fire.  So 
firmly  was  the  doctrine  held  by  the  honest,  that  it  was 
adduced  as  an  argument  for  the  resurrection  of  man.* 
Perhaps  the  Hamadryads  of  ancient  poetry,  nymphs  who 
were  born  with  trees  when  they  rose  out  of  the  ground,  who 
lived  in  them,  and  who  died  when  they  died,  were  but  their 
spiritual  forms,  separated  and  personified  by  fancy.  “ Trees,” 


* Disraelfs  account  of  the  Palingenesis  is  under  the  head 
“ Dreams  at  the  Dawn  of  Philosophy.’’  On  the  practical  part  of  it, 
see  Boyle’s  Philosophical  Works,  abridged,  vol.  i.,  p.  69,  “Surpris- 
ing things  performable  by  Chemistry,”  and  the  Philosophical  Trans- 
actions for  1674,  vol.  ix.,  p.  175.  Palingenesis,  as  a word,  is  simply 
the  Greek  for  resurrection,  learnedly  illustrated  by  Mr.  Trench  in 
his  New  Testament  Synonymes.  Theodore  de  By  eke  applies  it  to 
the  revival  of  letters,  “Oratio  de  palingenesis  Literarum  in  Terris 
nostris.”  Leyden,  1672. 


192 


MATERIALISM  AND  SPIRITUALISM. 


says  a lively  Frenclimaii,  ‘‘are  animated;  they  have  their 
enjoyments,  their  grief,  their  sleep,  and  their  loves.  The 
ancients  placed  a nymph  under  their  rind.  To  he  sure  she 
is  there!  Life  is  a very  pretty  nymph;  we  ought  to  love 
her  wherever  she  is  found.”  Ilow  beautifully  does  another 
of  the  same  country  allude  to  his  love  of  trees,  and  their 
influence  on  his  imagination,  regretting  that  there  are  no 
longer  any  Dryads,  or  it  would  have  been  among  these  that 
he  would  have  formed  an  attachment  in  which  his  heart 
should  find  its  home.* 

116.  In  fine,  recognition  of  the  spiritual  world,  as  the 
foundation  of  the  material  one,  and  in  connection  with  it, 
of  the  momentary  influx  of  the  Divine  life  into  every  ob- 
ject and  atom  of  creation,  the  spiritual  world  receiving  that 
life  primarily,  and  the  material  world  by  derivation  from  it, 
is  the  beginning  of  all  genuine  philosophy.  Unperceiving 
these  two  great,  fundamental  truths,  the  whole  kingdom  of 
truth  is  beclouded:  only  as  men  learn  to  appreciate  and  to 
apply  them,  does  their  knowledge  begin  to  live.  “What 
but  apparitions,”  says  Coleridge,  “can  belong  to  a philoso- 
phy which  satisfies  itself  when  it  can  explain  nature  me- 
chanically, that  is,  by  the  laws  of  Death,  and  brands  with 
the  name  of  Mysticism  every  solution  grounded  in  Life?” 
“As  Nature,”  says  Dr.  Braun,  “without  -man,  presents 
externally  only  the  image  of  a labyrinth  without  a clue, 
scientific  examination  which  denies  the  internal,  spiritual 
foundations  of  nature,  leads  only  to  a chaos  of  unknown 
matters  and  forces.  From  this  dark  chaos  no  bright  path 
leads  up.”  Yet,  ordinarily,  it  is  precisely  the  live  facts 
from  which  men  of  science  turn  away!  “Nothing  is  more 
evident,”  says  one  of  the  shrewdest  writers  of  our  day, 
“than  that  the  men  of  facts  are  afraid  of  a large  number  of 


* IloBseau.  Confessions,  book  ix. 


MATERIALISM  AND  SPIRITUALISM. 


193 


important  facts.  All  the  spiritual  facts  about  us,  of  which 
there  are  plenty,  are  denounced  as  superstition.  Not  only 
are  they  not  received  by  that  courtesy  which  takes  off  its 
grave  hat  to  a new  beetle  or  a fresh  vegetable  alkaloid,  but 
they  are  treated  by  it  worse  than  our  vermin.’’  We  do  not 
seek  to  disparage  the  efforts  of  the  non-spiritual.  Whoever 
faithfully  explains  one  of  ‘‘the  things  that  do  appear,” 
assists  in  explaining  the  hidden  and  invisible  ones  which 
are  not  seen,  and  deserves  approbation  and  gratitude  accord- 
ingly. Let  him,  with  equal  courtesy,  not  undervalue  the 
efforts  of  the  “spiritual;”  falling  into  the  error  of  those 
“fools”  and  “blind”  of  old,  who  knew  not  whether  was 
greater,  the  gold  of  the  temple,  or  the  temple  that  sanctified 
the  gold.  The  “spiritualist”  may  seem  mad  to  the  material- 
ist,— and  mad  he  is,  if  merely  a spiritualist;  but  how  much 
more  sane  is  the  mere  man  of  science,  who  seeking  the  living 
among  the  dead,  values  the  tabernacle  more  than  the  occu- 
pying spirit? 

17 


I 


CHAPTER  X! 

GBOUKnS  OF  TIFF  VA  FT  OTIS  FFASF  OF  FIFF— Continued. 

CO RIlFSrON OFNCJJ  OF  NATURE  ANJ)  MINI), 

117.  Correspondence,  or  the  science  of  the  relation  of 
the  two  worlds,  i.  6.,  of  the  objects  and  phenomena  of  the 
material,  to  the  ty^jical  forms  and  noumena  of  the  spiritual, 
is  the  key  and  Open  Sesame!  to  every  species  of  human 
knowledge.  With  correspondence  for  our  guide,  perhaps 
nothing  is  absolutely  unintelligible;  without  it,  the  com- 
monest things  are  clouded.  To  right  conceptions  of  the  un- 
seen it  is  indispensable  at  the  very  outset.  Most  of  the 
metaphysical  difficulties  which  surround  revealed  theology, 
really  originate  in  neglecting  the  light  which  Correspondence 
is  fitted  to  throw  upon  them;  the  phenomena  of  the  senses 
find  in  it  their  only  true  solution.  Vast  as  nature  itself,  of 
course  it  can  here  be  only  commended  to  minds  zealous  in 
pursuit  of  genuine  wisdom,  excej^t  in  so  far  as  relates  to  the 
lease  of  life. 

118.  To  this  end  it  will  suffice  that  we  consider  the  parti- 
cular correspondence,  derived  from  the  general,  which  nature 
holds  with  the  faculties  and  emotions  of  the  Soul,  that  won- 
derful and  delicious  concord  whereby  the  sunshine,  the  sea, 
everything  in  nature  is  so  companionable,  and  which  gives 
to  the  soul  a kind  of  omnipresence.  The  ground  of  this 
concord  is  that  man,  as  to  first  principles,  is  a synthesis  of 
the  spiritual  world,  and  thus  of  the  material  world  which 
clothes  and  represents  it.  As  a concave  mirror  contains 

194 


NATUKE  A SECOND  HOMO, 


195 


pictures  in  little  of  all  the  thousand  objects  of  a beautiful 
landscape,  so  in  the  soul  of  man  is  contained  an  epitome  of 
all  the  forces  and  principles  that  underlie  the  works  of  God, 
whether  visible  or  invisible.  The  poets  and  philosophers 
call  him  a microcosm,  ov  ^‘little  world;’’  ‘^the  kingdom  of 
heaven,”  says  holy  writ,  ‘Ts  within  you.”  External  nature 
is  not  the  independent  thing,  having  no  connection  with 
man,  which  we  are  apt  to  suppose.  It  is  at  once  a second 
logos,  and  a second  homo.  It  is  so  varied,  so  lovely,  so  ex- 
quisitely organized,  because  of  the  variety,  the  loveliness, 
the  exquisite  composition,  primarily  of  the  spiritual  world, 
secondly  of  the  human  soul.  The  sun,  the  stars,  trees, 
flowers,  the  seq.,  rivers,  animals,  exist,  not  irrespectively  and 
independently  of  man,  but  because  of  him.  In  him  are  all 
of  these,  along  with  spring,  summer,  autumn,  and  winter, 
light  and  darkness,  heat  and  cold,  all  natural  objects  and 
phenomena  whatever,  only  after  another  manner,  felt  instead 
of  seen,  as  sentiments  and  emotions,  instead  of  physical  in- 
carnations. Were  they  not  in  him,  there  would  be  none  of 
them  anywhere  else.  ‘‘Had  I not  had  the  world  in  my 
soul  from  the  beginning,”  says  Goethe,  “I  must  ever  have 
remained  blind  with  my  seeing  eyes,  and  all  experience  and 
observation  would  have  been  dead  and  unproductive.  The 
light  is  there,  and  the  colors  surround  us,  but  if  we  bore 
nothing  corresponding  in  our  own  eyes,  the  outward  appa- 
rition would  not  avail.”  When,  therefore,  we  admire 
nature,  when  w^e  love  it,  it  is  virtually  admiration  of  the 
spiritual  and  immortal,  and  this  is  why  the  love  of  nature  is 
so  powerful  a help  towards  loving  God.  Hence  also  the 
concurrence  of  Science  and  Metaphysics,  wliich  are  con- 
cerned with  things  essentially  the  same,  only  presented  under 
different  aspects  and  conditions.  So  intimate  is  the  corres- 
pondence even  between  the  body  of  man,  and  the  faculties 
of  the  soul,  that  Klencke  has  built  upon  it  an  entire  system 


196 


THE  UNIVERSE  A HIEROGLYPH. 


of  organic  psychology,  incited  perhaps  by  the  hint  of  Lord 
Bacon,  when  he  says  that  ‘‘unto  all  this  knowledge  of  the 
concordances  between  the  mind  and  the  body,  that  part  of 
the  inquiry  is  tlie  most  necessary  which  considereth  of  tlie 
seats  and  domiciles  which  the  several  faculties  do  take  and 
occupy/’  We  little  think  how  near,  by  correspondence,  the 
body  is  like  the  soul,  and  the  soul  like  the  spiritual  world. 
Novalis  says  truly  that  “we  touch  heaven  when  we  lay  our 
hand  on  a human  body.”  Think  how  the  face  is  the  epi- 
tome of  the  body,  repeating  in  little  its  every  organ  and 
every  function,  and  we  see  why  the  face  is  of  all  natural 
mysteries  the  very  grandest.  That  plants  and  animals  were 
created,  and  light  and  darkness  ordained  prior  to  the  crea- 
tion of  man,  is  no  objection  to  their  being  effects  or  results 
of  him,  because  although  the  last  to  be  actually  moulded, 
he  was  the  first  in  conception  and  plan,  all  the  works  of 
Almighty  wisdom  being  prefigurative  of  His  own  image  and 
likness. 

119.  It  is  no  new  doctrine  that  such  a concord  or  corres- 
pondence exists  between  nature  and  the  soul  of  man ; it  is 
no  new  discovery ; neither  is  it  a deduction  from  any  new  or 
narrow  circle  of  experiences.  “ The  world  at  large  is  the 
school  that  believes  in  it,  and  daily  life,  in  all  its  immense 
detail,  is  the  theatre  of  its  exemplification.”  Language 
rests  entirely  upon  the  sublime  fact  that  the  universe  is  a 
hieroglyph  and  metaphor  of  human  nature;  there  is  no 
poetry  that  has  not  sprung  from  the  deep  feeling  of  it,  and 
that  does  not  owe  to  it  all  its  eloquence  and  graces ; all 
philosophy  implies  and  unconsciously  proclaims  it;  the 
magic,  idolatry,  and  mythology  of  the  primsevals ; the 
“ language  of  flowers,”  emblems,  fable,  allegory,  the  rites 
and  ceremonies  of  religion,  are  all  founded  upon  it,  and  are 
alone  explicable  by  it.  It  is  no  less  the  ground  of  our  most 
living  enjoyments.  The  sweetness  of  a kind  look,  the  solace 


CORRESPONDENCE  THE  GROUND  OF  FRIENDSHIP.  197 

of  a loving  smile,  come  purely  of  the  correspondence  of  the 
features  with  the  soul  within ; the  pleasure  we  derive  from 
music,  scenery,  flowers,  comes  of  our  feeling,  when  in  their 
presence,  the  sweet  sense  of  kindred.’’  The  light  of  the 
soul,  like  the  light  of  the  sun,  makes  everything  beautiful 
on  which  it  shines,  but  it  is  by  being  reflected  from  it.  As 
we  can  only  give  to  others  what  they  can  take,  so  can  we 
only  be  affected  by  what  is  congenerous  to  ourselves — the 
secret  of  all  loves,  friendships,  and  social  unions.  The  in- 
most spring  of  our  attachments  to  one  another  is  our  Cor- 
respondence. Hence,  too,  that  beautiful  innate  image  in 
the  heart  of  the  beings  we  most  deeply  and  permanently 
love,  which  gives  to  our  first  sight  of  them  almost  a sense 
of  recognition. 

Some  are  never  strangers. 

But  soon  as  seen,  the  soul  as  if  by  instinct 
Springs  towards  them  with  resistless  force,  and  owns 
Congenial  sympathy. 

120.  Save  for  the  unity  of  the  mind  with  the  inmost, 
spiritual  essence  of  the  world,  nature  would  not  only  be  in- 
comprehensible to  man — not  only  be  no  object  of  his  intelli- 
gence, but  not  even  an  object  of  his  consciousness.  Only 
by  virtue  of  our  correspondence  with  nature  do  we  become 
familiar  with  it.  There  can  be  no  reciprocation  where  there 
is  no  similarity.  Were  it  not  a mirror,  it  would  be  a void, 
as  to  the  brutes  it  really  is,  since  they  see  it  not,  and  feel  it 
not.  Not  that  there  is  any  of  our  proper  life  in  the  things 
of  nature.  They  are  instinct  with  spiritual  vitality,  but 
only  in  man  is  spiritual  vitality  exalted  into  spiritual  Life, 
since  he  alone  is  intelligent  of  God.  Doubtless  there  is 
great  diversity  in  men’s  estimate  and  appreciation  of  natural 
objects,  and  thence  in  the  pleasure  derived  from  them,  but 
this  so  much  the  more  substantiates  the  principle.  Why 
n 


198 


CORRESPONDENCE  A MORAL  AGENT. 


some  minds  are  most  delighted  by  flowers,  others  by  birds, 
others  by  moniitains,  others  by  trees,  even  by  particular 
species  of  living  things,  as  when  one  loves  above  all  other 
birds  the  industrious,  sociable  rooks,  it  is  that  the  corre- 
spondent spiritual  principles  are  in  those  minds  preeminently 
developed.  The  whole  of  nature  is  in  every  mind,  but  some 
one  part  of  it  more  actively  than  the  remainder;  while  all 
men  are  joint  heritors  of  the  total  of  the  world,  every  man 
has  a little  piece  of  it  to  himself  Every  man  has  a secret 
aflinity,  a secret  love,  a secret  pleasure,  known  in  its  fullness 
and  rewards,  like  his  conscience,  only  to  himself  and  to  his 
Maker.  Were  we  wise,  this  great  principle  would  be  made 
the  basis  of  Education,  which  should  never  fail  to  respect 
the  correspondences  of  individual  minds,  and  cannot  be  ex- 
pected to  be  efficient  till  it  is  recognized.  The  efficacy  of 
correspondence  is  truly  wonderful.  While  new  feelings  are 
awakened,  old,  familiar  ones  are  heightened  and  improved 
by  the  presence  of  the  natural  object  that  represents  them. 
Beneath  the  still  skies  of  night  we  become  more  reverent ; 
looking  at  the  green  leaves  of  spring,  more  young  in  hope. 
Why  do  the  tenderly-attached  find  such  happy  hours  in 
sweet,  sequestered,  rural  pathways,  where  the  wild  flowers 
blow,  and  the  clear  streams  ripple,  if  it  be  not  that  nature 
mirrors  and  echoes  their  affections,  and  enriches  them  with 
a new  enthusiasm  ? Hence  it  is  also  that  those  who  love 
tenderly  always  feel  peculiarly  endeared  to  one  another 
wdiile  participating  in  the  admiration  of  works  of  Art, 
which,  fulfilling  the  highest  end  of  Art,  namely,  to  excite 
emotions,  and  not  merely  awaken  recollection,  speak  to  the 
soul  by  their  true  grandeur.  A chief  reason  why  so  much 
originally  good  feeling  becomes  chilled  and  debased,  is  that^ 
we  do  not  oftener  quit  the  world  that  man  has  made,  for  the 
coinj)any  of  our  kindred  in  the  world  that  God  made.  Im- 
muring ourselves  in  the  narrow  boundary  of  our  parlors. 


SIGNIFICANCE  OF  EXTERNAL  NATURE. 


199 


we  cannot  properly  expand ; in  the  presence  of  nature  we 
feel  great  and  free,  like  that  which  we  have  before  our  eyes.” 
Things  again,  which  away  from  their  correspondent  imagery 
seem  weak  and  trifling,  in  its  presence  become  beautiful  and 
noble.  “ Love-scenes,”  says  an  amiable  writer,  “ such  as  in 
a parlor  look  foolish  and  absurd,  assume  a very  different 
aspect  when  seen  amid  the  soft  hush  and  spiritual  beauties 
of  an  evening  river-side,  or  in  the  light  of  an  autumn  moon. 
We  feel  then  that  the  beautiful  picture  has  received  its 
proper  setting.  Who  has  forgotten  the  moonlight  scene  in 
the  Merchant  of  Venice,  or  the  interview  of  Waverley  and 
Flora  near  the  waterfall  ?”  Lastly,  it  is  in  the  convergence 
towards  him  of  all  its  nature  and  attributes,  that  the 
thoughtful  man  finds  the  dignity  of  the  world  consist.  “ He 
reads  the  mystery  of  human  existence  in  the  relations  of 
the  forms  which  encompass  him ; and  discovers  the  solution 
of  nature’s  problems  in  his  own  physical*  and  mental  activi- 
ties.” He  sees  that  it  is  the  same  life  which  connects  events 
and  phenomena,  whether  in  him  or  without  him,  and  with 
the  change  from  terrestrial  to  human,  finds  it  glorify. 

121.  External  nature  being  then  what  w^e  find  it,  by  vir- 
tue of  previous  ideas  and  affections  in  the  world  of  spirit, 
and  of  its  synthesis,  the  human  soul,  the  phenomena, 
changes,  and  vicissitudes  which  take  place  in  it,  will  be  so 
many  correspondences  and  translations  of  what  occurs  ther-e. 
Here,  accordingly  is  the  first  solution  of  the  problem  of  the 
lease  of  life.  Why  the  oak  and  the  elephant  live  so  long ; 
why  the  gourd  and  the  insect  die  so  soon,  is  that  the  princi- 
ples, sentiments,  and  emotions  in  the  human  soul  to  which 
these  things  severally  correspond,  are  of  the  same  relative 
constitution  and  capacity  of  endurance.  How  many  are  the 
emotions  which  we  feel,  year  by  year,  growing  and  strength- 
ening within  us,  like  noble  trees ; how  many  others  do  we 
feel  spring  up,  blossom,  and  pass  away  like  the  day-lily ! 


200 


THE  LAW  OF  USE. 


The  whole  matter  of  the  ‘‘gro^vth  of  the  mind”  is  translata- 
ble into  the  history  of  the  growth  of  nature,  its  changes,  de- 
cays, and  rejuvenescences.  What  is  longa^val  in  tlie  soul,  is 
longseval  also  in  nature ; what  is  ephemeral  in  the  world,  is 
the  picture  of  something  ephemeral  in  ourselves. 

122.  The  law  of  Use,  wherein  consists  the  second  grand 
cause  of  the  diversity  in  the  lease  of  life,  is  like  Correspond- 
ence, vast  as  creation  itself,  seeing  that  subserviency  to  an- 
other's wants  and  happiness  is  the  jmrpose  for  which  all 
things  have  been  designed,  and  the  world  framed  and  me- 
thodized so  admirably.  The  greater  the  amount  of  the  dif- 
ference between  any  two  or  more  objects,  the  stronger  is  the 
proof  of  their  necessity  as  regards  the  general  welfare,  and 
thus  of  their  having  some  special  use  in  their  respective 
spheres,  whether  we  can  perceive  the  exact  nature  of  it  or 
not.  The  difference,  for  example,  between  an  elephant  and  a 
rose,  and  between  a rose  and  a pebble,  is  the  precise  measure 
of  their  value  and  importance  in  the  collective  economy  and 
constitution  of  things.  Wherein  these  two  qualities  consist, 
of  course  is  a separate  matter  of  inquiry,  and  falls  to  the 
province  of  the  accurate  observer  of  nature. 

123.  All  uses  are  referable  to  one  or  other  of  three  great 
ends ; they  were  designed  for  these  ends,  and  they  are  per- 
petually promotive  of  them.  The  first  is  the  physical  wel- 
fare of  the  living  organisms  of  our  planet ; the  second,  the 
instruction  and  delight  of  man;  the  third,  which  presupposes 
and  ensues  upon  the  other  two,  is  the  glory  of  God  who  or- 
dained them,  and  for  whose  ‘‘pleasure”  all  things  were  cre- 
ated. Pliysical  uses  comprise  all  those  by  which  things 
reciprocally  sustain  one  another  in  health  and  comeliness, 
and  j)rcserve  their  respective  races  extant  upon  the  earth. 
The  soil  supports  the  plant;  the  plant  feeds  the  animal; 
both  n^pay  all  that  is  rendered  them,  and  with  interest;  and 
strengthened  by  what  they  have  received,  succor  their  own 


DEATH  NEEDFUL  TO  HUMAN  HAPPINESS.  203 


species.  According  to  the  needs  of  each  superior  thing  is 
the  adaptation  of  every  inferior  one  that  supports  it,  as  re- 
gards structure,  configuration,  and  vital  economy ; every 
plant  and  animal,  every  bird  and  tree,  every  mineral  even, 
is  so  constituted  as  to  enable  it  to  minister  to  a nobler  na- 
ture ; the  term  of  its  life  is  exactly  adequate  and  proportion- 
ate to  its  office,  and  concludes  when  the  duties  of  that  office 
have  been  fulfilled.  The  tree  that  provides  timber  lives  for 
centuries ; the  corn  required  for  food  is  ripe  in  a summer. 

124.  Nature  ministers  to  the  instruction  and  delight  of 
man  by  shadowing  intellectual  and  religious  truth ; and  this 
great  use  it  most  efficiently  subserves  in  the  circumstance 
of  its  incessant  change.  Change,  at  least  in  the  material 
world,  implies  death ; and  death,  for  its  full  efficacy  and  im- 
pressiveness as  a monitor,  needs  to  be  various  and  wonderful 
as  life.  Were  there  no  such  thing  as  external  nature,  man 
would  be  an  irremediably  ignorant  savage ; he  becomes  ci- 
vilized and  intelligent  by  the  just  contemplation  of  its  mys- 
teries. Nature  is  the  grand,  rich  book  of  symbols  which  we 
prove  it,  not  simply  in  the  significance  of  its  forms,  but  in 
the  significance  and  lessons  of  the  phenomena  of  its  mortal- 
ity, Were  all  things  like  the  granite  mountain-peaks,  that 
have  caught  the  first  beams  of  immemorial  morning  suns, 
enduring  forever,  though  we  might  wonder  more,  our  love 
and  true  spiritual  activity  would  be  less.  The  very  frailty 
of  things  excites  a tender  interest  in  them,  and  when  to  this 
is  joined  an  almost  endless  diversity  as  to  the  period  of  their 
stay,  they  become  to  us  store-houses  of  curious  wisdom  and 
satisfaction.  Where  would  be  the  gladness  of  the  spring  if 
the  primroses  blossomed  throughout  the  year,  or  the  gran- 
deur of  the  ancient  woods  if  the  trees  were  but  children  of 
the  summer?  Man  is  a thousand  times  happier  from  the 
fact  of  some  plants  being  annuals,  others  perennials,  others 
longseval  trees,  than  were  all  to  die  at  a common  age. 


' 202 


DEATH  A BENEFICENT  ORDINATION. 


125.  Finally  is  the  use  of  all  things  in  reference  to  the 
glory  of  their  Almighty  Framer ; and  tliis,  as  in  tlie  pre- 
ceding case,  is  exalted  by  wluit  to  a small  and  narrow  view, 
is  their  very  weakness.  AVhy  the  mass  of  organic  nature  is 
so  brief-lived,  why  it  seems  to  exist  only  to  die,  is  that, 
taking  a thousand  years  together,  the  amount  of  enjoyment 
(or  of  picturesque  on  the  part  of  what  is  not  competent  to 
enjoy),  shall  be  greater  than  were  it  to  survive  for  the  whole 
period.  The  larger  the  nund)er  of  beings  that  enter  the 
world,  whether  by  fertility  of  individuals,  or  by  successive 
renewals,  one  generation  after  another,  so  much  the  more 
scope  is  there  for  that  happiness  and  physical  beauty  which 
it  is  the  Divine  ‘‘pleasure”  to  communicate  and  sustain. 
Doubtless,  a solitary  tree,  a single  animal  of  each  kind,  or 
of  any  kind,  attests  the  hand  of  God  as  powerfully  as  a 
world-full,  and  a single  generation  as  powerfully  as  a hun- 
dred ; but  God  is  essential  Love,  and  the  nature  of  love  is 
to  give ; its  satisfaction  is  to  surround  itself  with  receptacles 
for  the  blessings  which  it  burns  to  bestow,  and  in  a finite 
kingdom  such  receptacles  are  best  multiplied — perhaps  only 
so — by  the  magnificent  institutions  of  Death  and  Kenewal, 
whereby  myriads  are  successively  introduced  upon  the  scene, 
instead  of  a few  antique  and  venerable  ones  remaining  al- 
ways. It  is  infinitely  more  to  the  glory  of  God  that  ten 
men  should  live  for  seventy  years  a-piece,  one  after  another, 
than  that  there  should  be  only  one  instead  of  ten  in  the 
same  period.  It  makes  ten  happy  lives  instead  of  only  one, 
for  seventy  years  properly  used,  are  as  good  as  seven  hun- 
dred. In  a word,  whatever  advantage  it  is  to  man’s  wel- 
fare, either  physical  or  moral,  tluit  the  lease  of  life  should 
be  various,  is  also  a glory  to  God,  because  all  human  en- 
lightenment and  delight  shine  back  upon  the  heaven  of 
their  origin. 

126.  A question  yet  remains  in  connection  with  this  sub- 


LEASES  OF  EXTINCT  ANIMALS  AND  PLANTS.  203 


ject,  namely, — Let  the  maximum  duration  of  the  individuals 
constituting  a species  be  what  it  may, — a few  months  or  a 
thousand  years, — does  a period  arrive  in  the  history  of  the 
species  when,  like  a title  of  nobility  without  an  heir,  it  abso- 
lutely ‘^dies  out,^’  every  individual  becoming  extinct?  Geo- 
logy makes  it  plain  that  during  the  infinite  past,  species  of 
animals  and  plants  now  no  longer  existing,  successively 
occupied  the  surface  of  the  earth,  in  considerable  variety 
and  amazing  numbers;  the  legitimate  conclusion  is,  there- 
fore, in  favor  of  the  affirmative.  How  long  the  particular 
species  now  alive  have  been  upon  the  earth,  how  long  they 
will  continue,  man  can  neither  know  nor  surmise;  it  is  suf- 
ficient for  the  principle  that  they  can  be  shown  to  have  had 
predecessors,  and  that  those  predecessors  have  wholly  dis- 
appeared from  the  ranks  of  the  living.  The  highest  interest 
attaches  to  the  existing  organic  population  of  the  world, 
both  as  to  its  beginning  and  its  final  destiny.  The  origin  of 
noxious  plants  and  animals;  the  descent  of  the  various 
races  from  a single  individual  or  a single  pair  of  each  kind, 
or  on  the  other  hand,  from  a plurality ; their  dispersion  over 
the  earth’s  surface ; the  extermination  of  different  species  by 
the  hand  of  man ; and  many  similar  matters,  treated  as  they 
deserve,  would  suffice  to  fill  whole  volumes.  Here  they 
must  be  dismissed  with  the  bare  mention. 

127.  The  general  question  as  to  the  lease  of  life  in  species 
being  answered,  there  arise  upon  the  solution  other  and  more 
curious  problems : — What  were  the  leases  of  those  anterior 
species? — Why  have  they  not  continued  to  the  present  time? 
— Under  what  laws  were  the  new  and  superseding  forms  in- 
troduced? Geology  solves  them  in  part,  or  as  regards  the 
proximate,  physical  reasons;  and  no  portion  of  this  noble 
science  is  more  interesting  and  satisfactory.  But  Geology  of 
itself  is  insufficient;  we  are  compelled  to  fall  back,  as  in 
everything  else,  on  the  spiritual  laws  of  which  physical  ones 


204 


THE  PRE-ADAMITE  WORLD. 


are  Effects.  Then  we  find  that  the  same  laws  wliich  pri- 
marily determine  the  duration  of  the  individuals  of  a 
species,  determine  also  the  duration  of  the  species  as  a whole. 
They  are  problems  no  less  magnificent  than  vast,  if  only 
from  the  immensity  of  time  covered  by  the  events  and 
changes  they  have  reference  to.  Six  thousand  years,  or 
thereabout,  the  period  we  are  accustomed  to  regard  as  com- 
prising the  history  of  life,  and  as  taking  us  to  the  beginning 
of  creation,  is  in  reality  but  the  pathway  to  a point  from 
which  we  look  forth  on  an  expanse  without  horizon.  Yet 
not  hopelessly,  because  with  all  the  sublime  anti(piity  in  the 
works  of  the  Almighty,  stretching  so  far  back,  and  upon  a 
scale  so  grand,  there  is  indissolubly  connected  the  fact  of  his 
Unchangeableness,  assuring  us  that  he  was  always  employed 
as  now;  that  we  shall  find  all  in  perfect  harmony;  that  all 
that  exists,  as  worlds,  systems  of  worlds,  contents  of  worlds, 
to-day,  is  but  a continued  exemplification  of  original  and 
eternal  principles;  thus  that  all  lies  within  the  reach  and 
compass  of  our  understanding. 

128.  The  spiritual  laws  alluded  to  are  again  those  of 
Correspondence  and  of  Use,  which  apply  to  the  ante-hominal 
world  no  less  than  to  the  existing  state  of  things.  The  pre- 
Adamite  plants  and  animals,  like  those  which  now  surround 
us,  were  material  shows  of  forms  contained  in  the  spiritual 
world,  flowing  from  them  in  the  same  manner,  and  possessed 
therefore  of  similar  aflinities  with  principles  and  affections 
in  the  soul  of  man,  which  is  the  spiritual  world  in  little. 
For  though  later  in  production,  as  to  time,  man  virtually 
and  essentially  preceded  every  Spirifer  and  Trilobite,  every 
Coralline  and  Conferva.  Prior  to  all  worlds,  man  is  the 
oldest  idea  in  creation ; nothing  was  ever  moulded  into  form, 
or  vitalized  by  the  Divine  breath,  that  had  not  a prefigura- 
tive  reference  to  somctliing  eventually  to  be  exhibited  in 
him.  The  geological  history  of  our  planet  is  the  biography 


GEOLOGY  AND  PSYCHOLOGY. 


205 


of  human  nature,  told  in  the  imagery  of  correspondence; 
all  those  great  phenomena  of  stratification,  disruption, 
change  of  surface,  and  succession  of  living  being,  which 
make  the  annals  of  our  earth  such  glorious  reading,  are  to 
the  true  reader  a narrative  in  symbol  of  his  own  emotional 
and  intellectual  development.  From  the  time  when  darkness 
was  upon  the  face  of  the  deep,  through  all  the  grand  sequences 
of  light,  land  and  water,  vegetation  and  animal  life,  the 
record  is  of  man’s  advance  from  the  state  of  vacant  infancy 
up  to  that  of  ripe  and  opulent  maturity.  Did  we  know 
the  particular  correspondence  of  the  extinct  plants  and  ani- 
mals that  once  lived  upon  the  earth,  we  should  discern  in 
every  one  of  them  a picture  of  something  in  the  mind  or 
heart  of  childhood ; we  should  comprehend  the  scheme  of 
sequence  in  which  they  successively  appeared,  the  ground  of 
their  various  duration,  why  they  were  of  such  and  such 
figure,  habits,  and  degree  of  bulk.  The  great  size  of  many 
of  the  pre-Adamite  animals,  and  their  strange  and  unshapely 
forms,  consist,  we  may  see  at  a glance,  with  the  wild,  am- 
bitious phantasies  of  early  youth,  when  the  Arabian  Nights 
are  thought  to  be  solid  facts ; — the  small  number  of  distinct 
species,  relatively  to  the  present  numbers,  corresponds  with 
its  scanty  stock  of  emotional  experiences  and  ideas.  Who 
is  there  that,  wandering  through  the  museums  of  memory, 
is  not  reminded  of  the  time  when  the  plains  of  his  little 
world  were  trod  by  gigantic  Mastodons  and  Dimotheria,  and 
when  in  place  of  its  now  innumerable  flowers  and  fruit-trees, 
there  were  only  huge  Calamites  and  Sigillarias.  Thus  will 
it  be  that  Correspondence,  in  the  ratio  that  men  study  this 
matchless  science,  will  throw  light  on  the  history  of  the  fossil 
fauna  and  flora  of  our  globe.  Its  companion  law,  the  great 
principle  of  Use,  rightly  brought  to  bear,  will  supply  what 
more  is  wanting.  For  all  these  ancient  forms  of  life  had 
their  uses  to  subserve,  and  doubtless  their  respective  leases 
18 


206 


LEASES  COMMENSURATE  WITH  USES. 


were  adapted  to  them.  The  plants,  for  example,  whose 
compacted  and  bitumenized  relics  constitute  Coal,  must  have 
been  gifted  with  a duration  and  a prolific  power  commen- 
surate with  the  use  they  Avere  destined  to  in  the  remote 
future;  and  the  magazines  once  filled  and  covered  in  they 
would  cease  from  living  occupancy  of  the  soil. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


TMJE  SPIBITUAL  JEXrJtl^SSIOW  OF  FIFF,^ NATURE  AND 
SEAT  OF  THE  SOUE, 

129.  The  spiritual  expression  of  life  is  the  prerogative  of 
MAX.  It  is  the  gift  which  distinguishes  him  from  all  other 
animals;  just  as  the  organic  life  is  that  which  distinguishes 
those  animals,  together  with  plants,  and  his  own  material 
body,  from  earth  and  stone.  By  virtue  of  his  spiritual  life, 
man  is  an  emotional  and  intellectual  being.  By  virtue  of 
this  he  thinks,  speaks,  sings,*  worships,  loves,  pities,  weeps,f 
hopes,  laughs,  marries ; performs,  in  a word,  the  innumerable 
actions,  internal  and  external,  Avhich  the  observation  of 
thousands  of  years  has  never  once  detected  in  any  of  the  in- 
ferior orders  of  creation,  but  has  established  as  the  noble 
diagnosis  of  human  nature.  This  also  is  the  primary  ground 
of  his  physical  peculiarities.  By  virtue  of  his  possessing  a 
Soul,  animated  with  spiritual  life,  the  spine  of  man  has  those 
wonderful  curves  in  it,  and  that  curious  pyramidal  arrange- 
ment of  bones,  whereby  he  is  enabled  to  stand  erect.  The 
more  complicated  brain  than  any  other  of  the  mammalia 
have;  the  smoothness  and  nakedness  of  his  skin;  the  pecu- 
liar muscle  for  the  extension  of  the  fore-finger;  the  capacity 
for  being  tickled,  and  for  blushing ; smiles  and  kisses ; the 

* Birds  only  whistle ; they  do  not  sing. 

f The  occasional  flow  of  a few  tears  from  the  eyes  of  certain  quad- 
rupeds, is  not  weeping,  the  true  idea  of  which  implies  intelligent 
emotion,  and  strength  rather  than  weakness. 


207 


208 


THREE  DEGREES  OF  LIFE  IN  MAN. 


breast  of  woman,  so  exquisitely  unlike  that  of  any  otlier 
female  animal,  both  in  its  shape  during  tlie  flower  of  her 
age,  and  the  longer  retention  of  its  normal  form  after  the 
period  of  lactation;  all  these  have  their  essential  origin  in 
that  inner  and  regal  life  which  links  earth  to  heaven. 
Flowing  from  God  cotcmporaneously,  the  spiritual  and  the 
organic  life  are  the  same  in  essence y the  difference  between 
them  is  simply  one  of  expression.  As  jilaycd  forth  by  the 
body,  it  is  Organic  life;  as  played  forth  by  the  soul,  it  is 
Spiritual  life.  Man,  while  a resident  in  the  material  world, 
is  a recipient,  therefore,  not  merely  of  oiie,  nor  even  of  two, 
but  of  three  expressions  of  the  Divine  sustaining  energy. 
Chemical  affinity,  cohesion,  molecular  attraction,  &c.,  which 
are  its  lowest  expression,  sustain  the  elemental  ingredients 
of  his  frame,  the  carbon,  water,  lime,  and  so  forth.  Organic 
life  arranges  and  builds  up  those  ingredients  into  apparatus, 
and  impels  the  several  portions  to  the  due  performance  of 
some  fixed  duty.  Spiritual  life,  which  is  the  highest  expres- 
sion, vitalizes  and  energizes  his  soul ; impelling  it,  after  the 
same  manner,  to  the  exercise  of  its  intellect  and  affections. 
The  knowledge  of  the  lowest  expression  of  life  constitutes 
Physics ; that  of  the  organic,  Physiology ; that  of  the  highest 
or  spiritual.  Psychology.  The  latter  may  be  defined  as  the 
science  of  the  Life  of  God  in  man’s  soul;  physiology  as  that 
of  the  Life  of  God  in  his  body.  And  as  that  life  is  essen- 
tially One,  psychology  and  physiology,  in  their  high,  philo- 
sophic idea,  are  connected  as  soul  and  body,  and  each  is  an 
exponent  of  the  other.  What  in  relation  to  physiological 
life,  arc  called  the  “functions  of  the  body,”  pr  the  “functions 
of  organization,”  rc-ai^pcar  in  relation  to  the  spiritual  life, 
as  the  “intellectual  powers,”  the  “operations  of  the  mind,” 
&c.,  which  are  the  same  thing  essentially,  only  expressed 
after  a higher  manner,  according  to  the  law  of  discrete  de- 
grees. Functions  in  the  body,  faculties  in  the  soul;  the 


NATURE  AND  SEAT  OE  THE  SOUL. 


209 


terms  alter  as  tlie  theatre  changes.  Doubtless  there  are 
broad  distinctions  in  the  mode  of  their  procession.  The 
phenomena  of  which  physiology  takes  cognizance  are  both 
simultaneous  and  successive;  those  which  belong  to  psycho- 
logy are  successive  only.  “Physiological  phenomena  ex- 
hibit themselves  as  an  immense  number  of  series  bound  up 
together;  psychological  phenomena  as  but  a single  series. 
Thus,  the  continuous  actions  of  digestion,  circulation,  respi- 
ration, &c.,  are  also  synchronous;  but  the  actions  constituting 
Thought  occur,  not  simultaneously,  but  one  after  another.’’ 
Taken  together,  physiology  and  psychology  meet  as  Philo- 
sophy, or  the  science  of  the  antecedent  unity  of  which  the 
spiritual  and  the  material  are  the  dual  development. 

130.  The  spiritual  expression  of  life  is  a perfectly  distinct 
thing  from  the  soul;  which  is  no  mere  “principle,”  either  of 
intelligence  as  regards  this  world,  or  of  immortality  as 
regards  the  next;  but  a definite,  substantial  entity,  as  much 
a part  of  created  nature  as  a flower  or  a bird;  and  so  far 
from  being  Life,  or  even  possessing  any  inherent  or  separate 
life,  depends  for  existence,  no  less  than  the  body  which  en- 
closes it,  on  continually  renewed  supplies  from  the  Creator. 
“The  inner  man  drops  into  metaphysical  dust,  as  the  outer 
man  into  physical,  unless  the  parts  be  kept  in  coherence  by 
some  sustaining  life;  and  that  latter  is  no  other  than  the 
life  of  the  living  God.”  In  itself,  the  soul  is  neither  immor- 
tal nor  indestructible.  However  common  such  epithets  may 
be  in  books  and  sermons,  the  Bible  knows  nothing  of  them; 
though  it  unquestionably  teaches  that  God  having  once 
created  a soul,  it  pleases  him  to  sustain  it  with  life  for  ever; 
and  to  allow  it  to  exercise  that  life  freely,  as  if  it  were  its 
own,  just  as  the  free  exercise  of  the  organic  life  is  allowed  to 
the  body.  The  possession  respectively  of  independent  life 
and  of  derived  life,  constitutes  the  grand  characteristic  by 
which  we  distinguish  at  all  times  and  in  all  places,  between 
18  * 


210  POrULAR  IDEAS  CONCERNING  THE  SOUL. 


the  Creator  and  the  created.  If  not  a generally-received 
distinction,  even  among  philosophers,  that  the  soul  is  one 
thing  and  its  life  another  is  at  least  the  doctrine  of  the  New 
Testament,  where  the  Divine,  vitalizing  essence  is  discrimi- 
nated as  while  the  vessel  into  which  it  is  communicated 
is  called  by  some  such  name  as  Thus,  Tri^eu/ia 

ix  Tdu  deou  eiar^Adzv  iv  auzde^;,  ^‘the  spirit  of  life  from 
God  entered  into  them;’’  (Rev.  xi.  11,)  r«c  '^Tov 

tzetzeIexig fxkvcov ^ ‘Hhe  souls  of  them  that  Avere  beheaded.’’ 
(Rev.  XX.  4.)  The  body  is  distinguished  as  acoim^  as  in 
Matthew  x.  28,  ‘‘Fear  not  them  which  kill  zo  acofia^ 
but  are  not  able  to  kill  zr^v  but  rather  fear  Him 

who  is  able  to  destroy  both  (f'oyrj  and  ocoiia  in  hell.” 

131.  Rightly  to  conceive  of  the  spiritual  life,  it  is  needful, 
accordingly,  first  to  obtain  clear  ideas  of  its  receptacle,  the 
soul ; just  as  in  order  to  the  conception  of  physiological  life, 
it  is  needful  first  to  inquire  into  the  composition  of  the  body. 
If  we  are  to  judge  by  the  loose,  indefinite  notions  ordinarily 
entertained  respecting  the  soul,  even  by  intelligent  people,  a 
positive,  coherent  idea  of  it  is  one  of  the  greatest  desiderata 
of  the  age.  How  common  is  it  to  hear  the  soul  alluded  to 
as  a mere  abstract  intellection;  an  ethereal,  unimaginable, 
immortal  something,  located  nobody  knoAVS  where,  but  sur- 
mised to  be  in  the  brain,  and  capable  of  subsisting,  in  the 
trans-sepulchral  Avorld,  in  the  most  independent  and  isolated 
condition,  free  from  any  kind  of  connection  Avith  any  kind 
of  body.  This  is  not  philosophical,  to  say  the  least  of  it. 
Granted,  the  nature  of  the  soul  is  a mystery ; a mystery,  too, 
of  which  all  the  most  grand  and  sacred  part  futurity  alone 
can  reveal.  We  shall  compass  it  Avhen,  and  not  before,  our 
“eyes  behold  the  King  in  his  beauty,”  Him  who  is  “the  end 
of  problems  and  the  font  of  certainties.”  We  should  be 
thard^ful,  indeed,  that  Ave  feel  it  to  be  a mystery,  for  the 
mind  that  re])udiatcs  or  is  insensible  to  the  mysterious,  is  in- 


KNOWLEDGE  OF  THE  SOUL  ATTAINABLE.  211 


accessible  to  the  sublime.  But  to  be  mysterious  is  not  nece>s- 
sarily  to  be  inscrutable.  The  prime  feature  of  mystery  is 
that  it  recedes  before  wise  and  calm  interrogation.  Mystery, 
therefore,  should  never  be  allowed  to  deter.  It  ought  rather 
to  incite,  especially  when,  as  in  the  present  instance,  Eeve- 
lation  stands  ready  to  shed  its  clear  and  willing  light,  and 
assures  us  that  to  the  earnest  disciples  of  truth  “it  is  given 
to  know  the  mysteries  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven,”  of  which 
the  Soul  is  indisputably  one  of  the  sublimest.  “It  is  the 
essential  mark  of  the  true  philosopher,”  says  Coleridge,  “to 
rest  satisfied  with  no  imperfect  understanding,  so  long  as  the 
impossibility  of  attaining  a fuller  knowledge  has  not  been 
demonstrated.”  While  we  reverently  attempt  not  to  be 
“wise  above  that  which  is  written,”  one  of  our  highest  duties 
is  to  strive,  and  that  most  studiously,  to  be  wise  “^^p  to  that 
which  is  written.”  The  reward  is  abundant,  if  we  do  but 
discover  the  nature  of  the  difficulties,  and  what  is  within, 
and  what  beyond,  the  scope  of  our  powers. 

132.  That  a most  partial  and  defective  interpretation  of 
the  mystery  is  all  that  purely  secular  philosophy  can 
achieve,  may  be  as  readily  conceded  as  the  enigmatical 
character  of  the  theme  itself;  and  recognizing  this,  it  is  no 
matter  of  surprise  that  Pagan  antiquity  bequeathed  to  us 
nothing  but  a mass  of  shapeless  and  contradictory  hypothe- 
ses. The  ancients’  ignorance  of  physiology  was  likewise  a 
serious,  perhaps  fatal,  impediment.*  That  a people  claim- 
ing to  be  enlightened  Christians,  in  a country  like  England, 
should  not  hold  a single  fixed  and  positive  opinion  on  the 


* Anaximenes  taught  that  the  soul  was  nothing  more  than  air, 
Socrates,  in  the  Phjedo,  jocosely  remarks  to  the  disciples  of  this 
doctrine,  that  surely  their  souls  will  be  run  away  with  by  the  wind, 
when  they  die,  if  of  no  better  composition,  and  warns  them  against 
residing  in  an  open  and  windy  country ! 


212  'NO  ESTABLISHED  DOCTRINE  OF  THE  SOUL. 


nature  of  the  soul,  to  say  notliiug  of  an  established  doctrine, 
is,  however,  truly  astonishing,  and  not  a little  reproachJuL 
An  exalted  theology,  like  a sound  philosophy,  never  rests 
content  with  general,  indetiiiitc  ideas.  It  avails  nothing  to 
know  the  ancients’  deficiencies  if  we  are  careless  about  our 
own.  Only  by  making  the  detection  of  their  errors  the 
means  of  true  knowledge  for  ourselves,  do  we  acquire  a 
right  to  pity  the  ignorance  of  our  predecessors,  and  to  lay 
claim  to  an  enlightenment  which  they  had  not.  One  would 
think  that  though  no  one  else  cared  to  do  it,  those  at  least 
whose  entire  solicitude  is  presumed  to  have  reference  to  the 
soul,  and  whose  studies  and  occupation  so  peculiarly  qualify 
them,  namely,  the  priests  and  ministers  of  religion,  would 
never  rest  till  they  had  enabled  themselves  to  propound 
something  intelligible  and  satisfactory.  So  far  from  it,  the 
pulpit  is  mute,  and  its  companion  literature  is  barren.* 
Affirmations  of  the  general  fact  of  immortality  are  plentiful 
enough,  we  are  aware.  But  this  is  not  the  question,  nor  is 
it  a question  at  all.  JsTo  one  from  his  heart  disputes  the 
general  proposition  of  immortality;  and  it  is  notorious  that 
even  those  who  affect  to  deny  it  with  their  lips,  confess  it  in 
their  fears.  The  belief  in  immortality  is  a natural  feeling, 
an  adjunct  of  self-consciousness,  rather  than  a dogma  of 
any  particular  theology,  or  of  any  particular  age  or  country, 
and  is  concurrent  with  the  belief  in  an  Infinite,  presiding 
Spirit,  which  is  allowed  to  be  spontaneous  and  universal. 
What  we  want  to  be  instructed  in  is,  not  that  man  is  im- 
mortal, but  what  the  Soul  is;  and  this  not  so  much  as 
regards  our  future,  as  our  present  existence.  This  is  the 


* Witli  the  exception  of  the  Rev.  J.  Clowes’  Letters  to  a friend 
on  tlie  Human  Soul,  as  being  a Form  and  Substance  deriving  its 
life  continually  from  God,”  1825,  and  the  excellent  little  work  of 
the  K(;v.  W.  Mason  the  Human  Soul.” 


THE  SOUL  OF  MAN  A SPIRITUAL  BODY.  213 


knowledge  with  regard  to  which  intelligent  curiosity  seems 
dead,  and  which  is  so  beclouded  by  error,  yet  which  even 
the  pulpit  takes  no  trouble  to  purify  and  correct,  and  place 
before  the  world  in  its  proper,  illustrious  beauty;  as  if  it 
were  quite  unimportant  that  what  is  philosophically  false 
can  never  be  theologically  true. 

133.  The  soul  of  man,  considered  in  its  true  character, 
namely,  the  seat  and  immediate  organ  of  his  emotional  and 
intellectual  life,  is  his  spiritual  body.  The  body  of  flesh 
and  blood  is  only  half  the  human  being.  Another  body 
underlies  it.  There  is  a natural  body,”  says  the  Apostle, 
and  there  is  a spiritual  body.”  By  ‘‘  spiritual  body”  he 
plainly  means  a body  altogether  different  from  the  ‘‘natural,” 
which  is  the  material,  or  as  Wiclif  calls  it,  the  “beestli” 
body ; yet  by  speaking  of  both  in  the  present  tense — saying 
of  each  that  it  now  is — he  gives  us  to  understand  that  the 
two  bodies  are  cotemporaneous  and  co-existent,  so  long,  that 
is,  as  the  natural  one  may  endure.  By  adding  that  it  is  to 
be  “ raised,”  he  intimates  that  this  “ spiritual  body”  is  the 
immortal  portion  of  our  being.*  In  this  glorious  revelation 


* It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  point  out  to  the  intelligent  reader  that 
the  “if^  in  the  English  translation  of  these  verses  does  not  and 
cannot  mean  the  dead  material  body,  but  man  as  to  his  personality, 
or  consciousness  of  himself.  He  knows  himself  as  “a  natural  body’^ 
while  in  this  world;  as  “a  spiritual  body’^  in  the  next.  This  is 
proved  by  the  word  “ sown,”  which  refers,  not  as  careless  readers 
suppose,  to  the  interment  of  one’s  corpse  in  the  grave,  but  to  the 
birth  of  our  living  into  the  world.  “ The  time,”  says  Locke,  “ that 
man  is  in  this  world,  affixed  to  this  earth,  is  his  being  sown,  and  not 
when,  being  dead,  he  is  put  in  the  grave,  as  is  evident  from  St. 
Paul’s  own  words.  For  dead  things  are  not  sown  ; seeds  are  sown, 
being  alive,  and  die  not  till  after  they  are  sown.”  &c.  Paraphrase 
and  Notes  on  the  Epistles,  Works,  vol.  3,  p.  207.  Ed.  1714.  We  shall 
see  this  more  plainly  in  a future  chapter. 


214 


THE  TRANSFIGURATION. 


is  thus  furnished  the  “key  to  the  mystery;’’  for  everything 
which  philosophy  asserts  to  be  constitutional  to  the  soul  is 
involved  in  the  idea  of  a spiritual  body,  of  a nature  superior 
to  the  material  one,  and  continuing  to  exist  after  that  body 
expires ; and  conversely,  everything  which  is  said  by  the 
Apostle  concerning  the  spiritual  body,  is  exactly  what  we 
should  expect  from  an  inspired  writer,  seeking  to  communi- 
cate a general  notion  of  the  soul  and  its  destiny.  But  so 
far  we  have  little  more  than  a substitution  of  one  name  for 
another.  What  is  this  “ spiritual  body?”  Here  historical 
Scripture  comes  to  our  aid.  It  is  an  admirable  character- 
istic of  the  Bible  that  there  is  not  a single  doctrine  enunci- 
ated in  its  didactic  portions,  but  is  somewhere  illustrated  in 
its  histories;  either  in  the  actual  histories,  including  the 
biographical  notices,  or  in  the  ^i^dsi-histories,  as  the  para- 
bles. Take,  for  instance,  the  history  of  the  Transfiguration. 
During  its  progress,  there  were  seen  by  the  disciples, 
dvdpe(;  duo,  “ two  men,  which  Avere  Moses  and  Elias,  who 
appeared  in  glory.”  The  event  in  question  took  place  more 
than  eighteen  hundred  years  ago ; the  bodies,  therefore,  in 
which  the  patriarchs  appeared,  could  not  have  been  the 
resuscitated  and  transformed  material  bodies  Avhich  it  is 
commonly  supposed  will  be  re-attached  to  the  soul  at  the 
day  of  judgment,  “when  the  graves  are  opened,  and  the  sea 
gives  up  her  dead.”  They  must,  nevertheless,  have  been 
real  and  substantial  bodies,  or  they  Avould  not  have  been 
identified  as  Moses  and  Elias  by  spectators,  who  it  is  ex- 
pressly stated,  were  “ awake.”  Elias  (or  Elijah)  certainly 
is  stated,  in  another  place,  to  have  been  taken  up  into 
heaven  by  “a  chariot  and  horses  of  fire;”  but  to  the  en- 
lightened reader  of  the  Word  of  God,  it  is  evident  that  he 
did  not  go  as  flesh  and  blood,  seeing  that  these  “ cannot  in- 
herit the  kingdom  of  heaven ;”  and  in  any  case  there  is  no 
authority  for  supposing  Moses  to  have  gone  in  such  a form. 


LAZARUS  AND  THE  RICH  MAN.  215 

So  in  the  parable  of  Lazarus  and  the  rich  man.  Here  too 
the  several  actors  are  represented  as  being  perfectly  well 
known  to  one  another,  and  as  holding  the  perfect  human 
form,  implied  in  their  possessing  the  customary  corporeal 
organs.  The  time  of  this  parable  is  laid,  it  will  be  remem- 
bered, as  prior  to  the  ‘‘  day  of  judgment’’  and  the  “ resur- 
rection of  the  body,”  as  popularly  thought  of  (suggesting, 
by  the  way,  an  enormous  discrepancy  between  the  popular 
notions  and  the  doctrine  of  the  parable),  the  rich  man’s 
father  and  brethren  b'eing  still  alive  upon  the  earth.  Here 
again,  therefore,  there  is  no  material  body  present ; nothing 
but  the  sold;  yet  all  the  circumstances  of  the  narrative 
imply  bodies  no  less  real,  and  no  less  truly  organized  and 
sensitive.  What,  then,  is  the  inference  to  be  drawn  from 
these  facts  and  divine  teachings  ? Clearly  this ; that  what 
is  popularly  called  the  soul”  is  what  the  Apostle  terms  the 
“ spiritual  body and  that  the  latter  is  a substantial,  organ- 
ized form,  exactly  correspondent  with  the  external,  physical 
frame;  that  it  presents  a precisely  similar  assemblage  of 
parts  and  features ; and  that  when  disengaged  from  it  at 
death,  it  still  holds  intact  both  the  human  configuration,  and 
every  lineament  on  which  personal  identity  depends,  and  by 
which  individuals  are  recognized  and  distinguished  from  one 
another.  Thus  that  the  soul  is  no  will-o’-th’-wisp  in  the 
swamps  of  the  cerebrum,”  but  an  internal  man;  a body 
within  a body;  ‘^a  life,”  as  Aretseus  says  of  the  womb, 
within  a life ;”  in  the  material  body  as  God  is  in  the  uni- 
verse— everywhere  and  nowhere;  everywhere  for  the  en- 
lightened intellect,  nowhere  for  the  physical  view;  no  more 
in  the  brain  than  in  the  toes,  but  the  spiritual  double”  of 
the  entire  fabric.  All  the  organs  of  the  material  body  have 
soul  in  them,  and  serve  the  soul,  each  one  according  to  its 
capacity,  yet  is  the  soul  itself  independent  of  them  all, 
because  made  of  another  substance.  And  though  it  fill 


216 


man’s  body  a SE/ifES  OF  BODIES. 


the  whole  body,  yet  it  taketh  up  no  room  in  the  body ; and 
if  the  body  decrease,  if  any  member  be  cut  off  or  wither, 
the  soul  is  not  diminished,  only  ceaseth  to  be  in  that  mem- 
ber it  was  before,  and  that  without  any  hurt  or  blemish  to 
itself’’*  A beautiful  image  of  their  interconnection  is  sup- 
plied in  the  structure  of  bones^  which  consist  of  inanimate 
earthy  matter,  and  living  gelatine,  so  intimately  incorpo- 
rated that  although  the  parts  are  really  two,  the  seeming  is 
of  only  one,  atom  answering  to  atom  so  completely  that  the 
whole  of  the  earthy  matter  may  be  dissolved  away  by  acid, 
or  the  whole  of  the  gelatinous  matter  be  burned  by  calcina- 
tion, and  yet  the  form  of  the  bone  remain  entire.  The  inner, 
spiritual  body  is  represented  in  the  gelatine;  the  outer, 
material  one  in  the  earthy  matter. 

134.  It  may  assist  us  to  form  an  idea  of  the  spiritual 
body,  if  we  consider  the  various  parts  and  systems  of  organs 
of  which  the  outer  or  material  body  is  constructed.  Man  is 
in  reality  a series  of  human  forms,  one  wrapped  within  the 
other,  and  successively  more  perfect  and  complete  as  we  ap- 
proach the  seat  of  his  highest  powers.  Begin  with  the  ske- 
leton. In  this  we  have  the  rude  image  of  a man,  correct  as 
far  as  it  goes,  showing  his  bulk,  his  stature,  his  general  out- 
line. It  is  a skeleton,  we  may  remark  in  passing,  distinctly 
and  absolutely  human.  No  single  bone  of  it  exactly  agrees 
with  a bone  of  any  other  animal  whatever.  Next  take  the 
muscles.  Separate  these,  and  we  again  have  a man,  more 
perfect  and  substantial  than  the  former,  but  still  only  an 
approach  to  the  true  idea,  wanting  the  fullness  of  contour. 
Then  take  the  veins.  Here  is  a human  figure  again ; a 
drawing  of  the  venous  and  arterial  system  includes  the 
whole  area  of  the  body.  Taking,  however,  lastly,  the  brain 
aiwJ  nerves,  we  have  a mucli  closer  resemblance.  If  every 


PaychosopUia,  by  N.  Mosley,  p.  18.  1653. 


GHOST-BELIEF. 


217 


nervous  thread  could  be  extracted  and  exhibited  in  its  natu- 
ral position,  the  perfect  human  outline  would  be  delineated. 
These  several  elementary  structures,  the  skeleton,  the  mus- 
cles, the  veins,  the  nerves,  woven  and  interlaced  together, 
form  in  their  total  the  material  body,  the  skeleton  being 
least  like  the  total,  the  nervous  system  the  most  like  it. 
The  Spiritual  body  lies  within  again,  but  higher  and  more 
exquisite  in  every  circumstance  and  particular ; formed,  not 
of  material  substance,  but  of  spiritual ; invisible  therefore, 
and  intangible,  except  to  organs  formed  of  substance  similar 
to  i1;s  own.  What  the  skeleton  is  to  the  muscles,  what  the 
muscles  are  to  the  veins,  what  the  veins  are  to  the  nerves, 
what  all  these  together  are  to  the  man  in  his  full  physical 
integrity,  as  the  continent  of  the  whole,  such  is  the  material 
body  in  its  totality  to  the  spiritual.  Hence,  if  we  want  to 
see  what  the  soul  is  like,  instead  of  taking  a microscope,  or 
an  Essay  on  Immortality,  all  we  have  to  do  is  to  contem- 
plate the  living  and  moving  beauty  of  a human  figure  in  its 
ripeness  and  perfection.  The  true  ehojv  ^aackcxij  is  the 
human  body. 

135.  That  the  soul  or  spiritual  body  is  a form  in  exact 
correspondence  with  the  external,  material  body;  that  it 
presents  a similar  assemblage  of  parts  and  features;  and 
that  it  undergoes  no  change  in  these  respects  when  it  casts 
off  the  material  envelope,  and  enters  the  eternal  world — un- 
less to  acquire  infinite  access  of  beauty  or  distortion,  accord- 
ing to  its  governing  principle  of  conduct,  good  or  evil — is 
involved  in  ghost-belief;  a belief  which,  when  rightly  directed, 
has  infinitely  more  truth  in  it  than  the  dogmatic  nonsense 
which  describes  the  soul  as  a mere  ‘‘  principle.'’  How  often 
do  we  find  men's  actual,  secret  faith,  ahead  of  their  spoken 
Creeds  and  Articles  ! The  former  comes  of  the  truth-telling 
intuitions  of  the  heart ; the  latter  are  the  manufacture  of 
the  less  trustworthy  head.  Every  one  knows  that  there  is 
19  K 


218  UNIVERSALITY  OF  TTTE  RELIEF  IN  GHOSTS. 


such  a thing  as  feeling  a proposition  to  be  true,  tliough  the 
understanding  may  be  unable  to  master  it.  The  feelings,  it 
has  been  well  remarked,  are  famous  for  “ hitting  the  nail  on 
the  head.’’  Unlike  the  conclusions  of  the  intellect,  which 
are  shaped  more  or  less  by  education  and  country,  their 
voice  is  no  solitary  sound,  but  the  utterance  of  essential  and 
universal  human  nature.  It  is  to  our  feeling  rather  than  to 
our  thinking,  that  all  the  sublimest  arguments  in  the  universe 
are  primarily  addressed.  Where  logic  works  out  one  truth, 
the  heart  has  already  realized  twenty ; because  love,  which 
is  the  heart’s  activity,  is  the  profoundest  and  nimblest  of 
philosophers.  All  things  that  live  and  are  loveliest  are 
born  of  the  heart.  This  is  why  the  ancients  regarded  the 
heart  as  the  seat  of  Avisdom — not  of  knowledge,  but  of  that 
primary,  intuitive  wisdom  to  which  knowledge  is  only  an 
appendix.  Hence  then  the  value  of  the  fact  that  in  all 
ages  and  nations  there  has  existed  an  intuitional  conviction 
that  the  spirit  of  the  dead  immediately  enters  the  eternal 
world,  carrying  Avith  it  an  unmistakable  corporeal  personal- 
ity ; and  that  it  can  re-appear,  under  certain  circumstances, 
to  the  survivors.*  It  is  obvious  that  the  reappearance  of  the 
dead  requires,  as  a necessary  condition,  that  there  shall  be 


* ^ That  the  dead  are  seen  no  more,’’  said  Imlac,  “ I will  not  un- 

dertake to  maintain,  against  the  concurrent  and  unvaried  testimony 
of  all  ages,  and  of  all  nations.  * * * This  opinion, 

which  prevails  so  far  as  human  nature  is  diffused,  could  become 
universal  only  by  its  truth.” — Hasselas. 

From  what  remote  source  universal  tradition  may  have  derived 
this  idea,  would  be  a curious  inquiry,  and  might  be  rendered  im- 
portant. It  is  a pleasing  subject,  and  imbued  with  that  tender  me- 
lancholy which  peculiarly  befits  it  for  a mind  of  sensibility  and  fine 
taste.  Its  universality,  independently  of  the  testimony  afforded  it 
by  revealed  religion,  is  no  small  presumption  of  its  being  founded 
in  fact.” — L)r.  Good,  Book  of  Nature,  Scries  iii.,  Lect.  1. 


ALL  MEN  AKE  GHOSTS. 


219 


a spiritual  body,  perfect  in  form  and  feature,  as  in  the  case 
of  Moses  and  Elias.  Unfortunately,  the  actual,  solemn 
truth  of  the  matter  has  had  so  much  that  is  Mse  and  foolish 
heaped  upon  it,  as  to  be  in  itself  well-nigh  smothered. 
Eightly  understood,  ghosts  are  no  mere  offspring  of  vulgar, 
ignorant  superstition  and  creduilty.  Our  prejudices  and 
education  may  dispose  us  to  think  otherwise,  but  we  should 
be  slow  in  chiding  opinions  which  have  been  embraced  by 
any  considerable  portion  of  our  fellow-men ; since  the  fact 
that  a given  doctrine  has  been  widely  accepted,  and  ear- 
nestly contended  for,  is  a presumption  that  it  contains  a 
truth,  or  an  aspect  of  a truth,  essential  to  the  complete  ra- 
tional life  of  man.  Most  opinions  are  right  up  to  a certain 
point,  but  with  few  men  do  they  go  far  enough,  or  straight 
enough,  to  reflect  the  whole  truth.  All  human  beings  are 
at  this  very  moment  ghosts ; but  they  do  not  so  appear  to 
you  and  me ; nor  do  you  and  I,  who  are  also  ghosts,  so  ap- 
pear to  our  neighbors  and  companions,  because  we  are  all 
similarly  wrapped  up  in  flesh  and  blood,  and  seen  only 
as  to  our  material  coverings.*  Literally  and  true,  the 
ghost  of  a man  is  his  soul  or  spiritual  body;  and  in  or- 
der that  this  may  be  seen,  it  must  be  looked  at  with  ade- 
quate organs  of  sight,  namely,  the  eyes  of  a spiritual  body 


* Could  anything  be  more  miraculous  than  an  actual,  authentic 
ghost?  The  English  Johnson  longed  all  his  life  to  see  one,  but 
could  not,  though  he  went  to  Cock-lane,  and  thence  to  the  church- 
vaults,  and  tapped  on  coffins.  Foolish  Doctor  ! Did  he  never,  with 
the  mind’s  eye,  as  well  as  the  body’s,  look  round  him  into  that  full 
tide  of  human  life  he  so  loved — did  he  never  so  much  as  look  intc 
himself?  The  good  Doctor  was  a ghost,  as  actual  and  authentic  as 
lieart  could  wish ; well-nigh  a million  of  ghosts  were  traveling  the 
streets  by  his  side.  What  else  was  he,  what  else  are  we  ? * ^ 

It  is  no  metaphor ; it  is  a simple  scientific  fact.” — Carlyle,  Sartot 
Resartus,  Book  3d,  chap.  8th. 


220 


SPIlUTUAl.  SKJHT. 


like  itself.  AVe  have  sucli  eyes,  every  one  of  us;  but  during 
our  time-life,  they  are  buried  deep  in  flesh  and  blood,  and 
thus  it  is  only  when  specially  opened  by  the  Almiglity,  for 
purposes  of  his  providence,  that  it  is  possible  for  a ghost  or 
spiritual  body  to  be  beheld.  Much  as  our  material  eyes  en- 
able us  to  sec,  they  prevent  our  seeing  inconceivably  more. 

The  sight  of  man,”  says  Lord  Bacon,  carrieth  a resem- 
blance with  the  sun,  which  openeth  and  revealeth  the  ter- 
restrial globe,  but  covereth  and  concealeth  the  stars  and 
celestial  globe.  So  doth  the  eye  discover  natural  things, 
but  darken  and  shut  up  divine.”  Such  an  opening  of  the 
spiritual  sight  took  place  at  the  Transflguration,  when  the 
ghosts  or  spiritual  bodies  of  Moses  and  Elias  were  seen. 
Such  also  takes  place  when  the  ghosts  or  spiritual  bodies  of 
the*  dead  are  now  seen,  and  without  it,  it  is  impossible  they 
can  be  viewed.  Material  eyes  to  material  substances ; spi- 
ritual eyes  to  spiritual  ones.  Hence  it  is  that  in  accounts 
of  spiritual  appearances,  both  Scriptural  and  secular,  how- 
ever many  persons  may  be  present,  it  is  rarely  that  more 
than  one  perceives  the  figure.  The  narrative  in  2 Kings  vi. 
14 — 17,  is  a remarkable  instance: — ^^And  Elisha  prayed 
and  said.  Lord,  I pray  thee,  open  his  eyes  that  he  may  see. 
And  the  Lord  opened  the  eyes  of  the  young  man,  and  he 
saw” — what  previously  was  visible  only  to  the  prophet.  So 
in  Daniel  x.  7 : — ^^And  I,  Daniel,  alone  saw  the  vision,  for 
the  men  that  were  with  me  saw  not  the  vision.”  Tasso  in- 
troduces the  vision  of  Michael  and  his  warrior  angels  to 
Godfrey  only.  Shakspere  represents  the  spirit  of  Banquo 
as  unseen  by  any  one  at  the  supper  table  except  Macbeth. 
The  popular  or  vulgar  notion,  that  before  a spirit  can  be 
seen  it  must  assume  our  material  nature,  so  far,  at  least,  as 
to  reflect  the  light  of  this  world,  is  exactly  the  reverse  of 
the  truth ; which  is  that  the  change  must  be  made  in  our- 
selves, i.  e.,  l)y  o])ening  our  spiritual  sight. 


PHYSICAL  THEORY  OF  GHOSTS. 


221 


136.  Ghosts,  therefore,  so  far  from  being  mere  phantoms 
or  apparitions,  the  terrifying  illusions  of  a heated  imagina- 
tion, are  far  more  real  than  our  bodies  of  flesh  and  blood. 
They  endure  forever,  whereas  the  latter  are  but  temporary 
consolidations  of  a little  atmosphere,  with  a few  pounds  of 
phosphate  of  lime.  The  invisible  world  is  populated  by  them 
just  as  the  visible  one  is  occupied  by  material  things;  and 
as  that  world  is  all  round  about  us,  so  are  they  too  closely 
present. 

Millions  of  spiritual  creatures  walk  the  earth. 

Unseen,  both  when  we  wake  and  when  we  sleep. 

They  have  their  similitude  in  those  glorified  and  imperish- 
able languages  which  we  are  accustomed  to  account  and 
speak  of  as  dead.’’  True,  they  have  ceased  to  be  alive  in 
the  vulgar  sense,  or  as  spoken  languages ; yet  are  they  living 
and  immortal,  to  man’s  intelligence;  and  one  of  our  greatest 
privileges  is  to  be  sensible  of  their  presence  and  their  influ- 
ence on  us.  Would  men  but  ascend  to  this  high,  and  true, 
and  most  sacred  understanding  of  the  inhabitants  of  the 
unseen  world,  there  would  be  no  more  fear  of  ghosts,  nor 
would  ghost-belief  lay  itself  open  to  the  ridicule  which  now 
it  too  often  deserves.  They  would  be  relieved,  too,  of  the 
embarrassment  which,  when  scepticism  stands  mocking,  often 
seduces  to  an  insincere  denial.  Ghost-belief,  in  a word,  not- 
withstanding its  bad  reputation,  is  coincident  with  belief  in 
spirits  and  angels,  who  are  themselves  the  risen  souls  or 
spiritual  bodies  of  mankind;  and  to  know  that  there  are 
angels,  and  to  have  so  beautiful  and  salutary  a subject  of 
meditation,  is  one  of  the  chief  privileges  and  blessings  of  the 
Christian.  Pity  but  it  were  dwelt  upon  more  frequently. 

There  have  be^n  times,  we  know,  when  men  thought  too 
much  of  the  dead.  Such  is  not  among  the  faults  of  the  pre- 
^ent  age.”  It  is  quite  likely  that  many  supposed  spiritual 
19 


222 


TESTIMONY  OF  POETRY. 


appearances  may  be  explained  on  strictly  physical  principles, 
as  shown  byDrs.  Ferriar  and  ITibbert;*  and  especially  in 
some  kinds  of  disease  it  is  likely  that  men  fancy  they  see 
ghosts.  But  whoever  is  disposed  to  laugh  at  and  repudiate 
the  general  j)roposition,  should  first  read  Mrs.  Crow’s 
‘^Night-side  of  Nature,”  applying  to  its  narratives  the  prin- 
ciples we  have  laid  down.f  When  spiritual  bodies  are  really 
allowed  to  mortal  view,  it  is  probably  not  to  the  diseased, 
but  to  the  healthy  mind;  and  coming  under  the  providence 
of  God,  as  they  always  must,  they  may  furthermore  be  con- 
sidered as  vouchsafed,  like  the  miracles  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment, and  all  the  spiritual  appearances  therein  recorded, 
not  to  the  immoral  or  the  unbeliever,  “because  of  their  un- 
belief,” but  only  to  those  who  are  prepared  to  receive  and 
appreciate  intelligently. 

137.  Poetry  witnesses  that  “there  is  a spiritual  body.” 
Poetry  is  not,  as  some  deem  it,  mere  “privileged  lying;” 
neither  is  it,  in  its  essential  nature,  the  simple  embodiment 
of  elegant  but  illogical  fancies.  The  tales  which  the  poet 
tells,  as  wilful  and  deliberate,  may  be,  and  doubtless  are  for 
the  most  part,  fables.  But  the  sayings  and  phraseology  in 
which  those  tales  are  told,  flowing  half-unconsciously  from 
the  poet’s  heart,  and  altogether  beside  the  mere  Art  of  poetry, 
take  place  with  the  eternal  verities  of  the  universe.  As 
regards  scientific  matters,  and  the  minutise  of  Natural  His- 


* An  Essay  towards  a Theory  of  Apparitions,  by  John  Ferriar, 
M.  D.  London,  1813. 

Sketches  of  tlie  Philosophy  of  Apparitions,  or  an  Attempt  to 
trace  such  illusions  to  their  physical  causes,  by  Samuel  Hibbert, 
M.  1).  Edinburgli,  1824. 

i*  See  also  a Iteview  of  Mrs.  Crowe’s  work  in  Ainsworth’s  Maga- 
zine for  February,  1848,  wlierein  the  claims  of  this  department  of 
knowledge  are  mildly  and  intelligently  enforced. 


TESTIMONY  OF  POETRY. 


223 


tory,  doubtless  there  are  errors  in  poetry  as  well  as  in  prose. 
But  the  truth  of  poetry  is  independent  of  blunders  in  learn- 
ing; no  less  than  of  the  imperfect  science  of  its  era.  The 
supposition  equally  common,  that  poets  must  be  dreamers, 
because  there  is  often  much  dreaminess  in  poetry,  is,  again, 
purely  gratuitous.  “Vulgarly  considered  deficient  in  the 
reasoning  faculty,  the  poets  are  remarkable  rather  for  hav- 
ing it  in  excess.  They  jump  the  middle  terms  of  their 
syllogisms,  it  is  true:  and  assume  premises  to  which  the 
world  has  not  yet  arrived;  but  Time  stamps  their  conclusions 
as  invincible.”  Especially  is  the  true  and  great  poet  a pro- 
found metaphysician ; a far  profounder  one,  in  general,  than 
the  metaphysicians  by  profession.  “I  have  found  more 
philosophic  knowledge,”  says  Dr.  Millingen,  “in  the  pro- 
ductions of  our  poets,  than  in  all  the  metaphysical  disquisi- 
tions of  the  learned.”  The  only  difference  between  the 
poet’s  reasoning  and  that  of  other  men,  is  that  it  is  a reason- 
ing more  from  feeling  than  from  induction.  Therefore  is  it 
that  to  those  who  approximate,  and  thus  understand  him, 
the  true  and  great  poet  is  not  only  a musical  singer  and  a 
painter  of  beautiful  pictures,  but  a speaker  of  Wisdom  and 
Truth.  To  such,  his  utterances  commend  themselves  as  an 
apocalypse  of  human  nature.  Take,  for  instance,  the  lines 
in  Twelfth  Night,  where  Viola  asks  Sebastian  if  he  is  “a 
spirit :” — 

“A  spirit  I am  indeed. 

But  am  in  that  dimension  grossly  clad, 

Which  from  the  womb  I did  participate.’’ 

Here,  whatever  may  be  attributed  to  the  poet’s  imagination, 
we  have  at  least  the  calm  conclusion  of  the  philosopher,  for 
the  character  of  Sebastian  is  one  which  fully  justifies  the 
belief  that  of  two  possible  answers  Shakspere  would  assign 
to  him  the  one  which  he  himself  considered  the  more  sensi- 


224 


TESTIMONY  OF  POETRY. 


ble.*  Coleridge,  Wordsworth,  Bailey,  (in  “Festus,”)  all 
our  best  English  poets,  unite  in  teaching  the  same  truth  to 
the  understiyiding  that  can  rise  to  it.  Shelley  has  an  ot 
quisite  passage : — 

^‘Sudden  arose 
lantlie’s  soul ! It  stood 
All  beautiful  in  naked  purity. 

The  perfect  semblance  of  its  bodily  frame, 

Instinct  with  inexpressible  beauty  and  grace. 

Each  stain  of  earthliness 
Had  passed  away ; it  re-assumed 
Its  native  dignity,  and  stood 
Immortal  amid  ruin.” 

How  finely  the  self-disengagement  of  the  soul  at  death,  in 
the  form  of  the  body  it  leaves  behind,  is  spoken  of  by  the 
ancient  poets,  the  scholar  is  well  aware.  When,  for  example, 
in  the  11th  ^neid,  Camilla  is  described  as  extricating  her- 
self from  her  corpse,  after  the  spear  of  Aruns  has  brought 
her  exploits  to  an  end: — 

Turn  frigida  toto 

Paulatim  exsolvit  se  corpore;  lentaque  colla, 

Et  captum  letlio  posuit  caput,  &c. 

Then  of  vital  heat  bereft,  she  disengages  herself  from  the  whole 
body  by  degrees,  and  reclines  her  drooping  neck  and  head,  capti- 
vated by  death.” 

It  is  not  simply  her  life,  or  her  “princijile  of  volition,”  that 
goes,  but  se,  herself.  The  souls  of  the  dead,  as  ferried  by 
Charon  across  the  Styx,  Virgil  elsewhere  designates  corpora, 
‘M)odies.” 


* See  an  Essay  on  the  Ghost-belief  of  Shakspere,  by  Alfred 
Kofle,”  (Hope,  London,  1851,)  in  which  admirable  performance, 
says  one  of  liis  reviewers,  ‘^we  have  the  first  beginning  of  a study 
of  Sbakspere  according  to  facts  and  nature.” 


TESTIMONY  OF  LANGUAGE. 


225 


138.  The  facts  before  us  are  borne  out  also  by  Language, 
which  is  a form  of  Poetry.  ‘^It  is  good,”  says  an  able 
writer,  to  look  to  the  ordinary  language  of  mankind,  not 
only  for  the  attestation  of  natural  truths,  but  for  their  sug- 
gestions; because  common  sense  transfers  itself  naturally 
into  language;  and  common  sense,  in  every  age,  is  the 
ground  of  the  truths  which  can  possibly  be  revealed.  If  we 
set  our  ideas  before  the  glass  of  language,  they  receive,  to 
say  the  least,  a cordial  welcome.”  By  language  we  do  not 
mean  the  mere  art  of  speaking  and  writing  according  to 
some  specific,  arbitrary  mode,  which  though  intelligible  in 
one  country,  is  unintelligible  in  another.  We  mean  that 
beautiful  and  inevitable  flowering  forth  in  speech  of  the 
inner  living  intellect  of  man,  which,  older  and  more  excel- 
lent than  all  prosody  and  spelling,  is  an  integral  work  of 
nature;  and  which,  were  it  possible  for  the  accidental  forms 
which  it  may  hold  at  any  given  epoch,  as  English  and 
French,  Latin  and  Greek,  to  be  suddenly  and  totally 
abolished,  would  in  itself  be  unaffected,  and  speedily  incar- 
nate afresh,  unchanged  save  in  the  extrinsic  circumstances 
of  costume.  Looking  into  Language,  we  find  accordingly, 
that  whatever  is  vitally  and  essentially  human,  whatever 
distinguishes  man  from  the  brutes,  it  attributes,  in  all  ages 
and  countries,  to  ‘‘the  soul”  or  “the  spirit.”  It  recognises 
the  latter,  not  as  a mere  abstract  principle,  which  is  impotent, 
but  as  a living,  active,  substantial  entity,  such  as  alone  can 
effect  the  deeds  ascribed  to  it.  It  is  “ the  spirit”  that  moves, 
prompts,  withholds,  and  inclines  us;  that  is  grieved  and 
troubled;  that  is  elated  and  depressed.  David  exclaims, 
“Why  art  thou  cast  down,  O my  soul,  and  why  art  thou 
disquieted  within  me?”  We  speak  also  of  the  rejoicing, 
triumphing,  and  despondency  of  the  spirit;  of  having  no 
spirit  for  a thing,  and  of  being  dispirited.  Also  of  a poor 
8j)irit,  a mean  spirit,  and  a great  spirit;  a good  soul,  a kind 

K 


226 


FIGURES  OF  SPEECH. 


soul,  and  a willing  soul.  Every  one  of  these  affections  or 
qualities,  as  they  arc  ordinarily  termed,  is  a disposition  for 
the  time  being,  of  the  true,  immortal,  sj^iritual  man,  who, 
underlying  the  material  body,  is  the  real  thinker  and  the 
real  emotionist.  Call  the  expressions  ‘‘figures  of  speech’' 
if  you  will.  But  take  care  first  to  understand  what  are 
figures  of  speech,  in  their  proper,  essential  nature;  whence 
they  arise;  and  why  they  are  the  same  with  all  people,  in 
all  parts  of  the  globe,  independent  of  any  instruction  or 
comj)act.  Men  who  seek  to  escape  from  a truth  which 
presses  inconveniently  by  beginning  to  talk  about  “figures 
of  speech,”  only  betray  their  ignorance  of  the  first  principles 
of  language.  Figures  of  speech,  rightly  so  called,  are  the 
profoundest  texts  philosophy  can  start  from. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


S O UJO—Sl^Iltl  T—GSOST. 

139.  Not  a little  of  the  confusion  prevailing  in  the  popu- 
lar mind  with  regard  to  the  Soul,  may  unquestionably  be 
referred  to  the  fact  of  our  having  three  distinct  words  for  it, 
a proof  at  the  same  time  of  the  inestimable  value  of  an  en- 
larged and  accurate  appreciation  of  the  nature  of  Language 
in  the  determination  and  establishment  of  Truth,  and  of  the 
evils  that  arise  from  inattention  to  it.  Ordinarily,  the 
‘‘soul’’  of  man,  his  “spirit,”  and  his  “ghost,”  are  imagined 
to  be  three  separate  and  distinct  things.  Directly  we  look 
to  the  inherent  meaning  of  the  several  words,  we  find  them, 
however,  synonymous  and  convertible,  and  originally  of  a 
single  signification  and  a single  application.  The  soul  of 
man  is  his  spirit,  and  his  spirit  is  his  ghost;  neither  word 
meaning  more  or  less  than  the  Spiritual  body.  Undoubt- 
edly a conventional  distinction  has  been  made  between  the 
three  terms,  and  a very  proper  and  useful  one  it  is,  but  un- 
fortunately it  is  not  observed.  “ Soul  ” is  well  applied  to  the 
spiritual  body  during  our  residence  in  the  flesh:  “spirit,”  by 
metonymy,  to  that  deep,  interior,  intellectual  and  emotional 
consciousness  which  is  evidence  to  us  of  our  spiritual  life: 
“ghost”  to  the  spiritual  body  when,  casting  off  its  material 
vesture,  it  becomes  an  inhabitant  exclusively  of  the  spiritual 
world,  and  if  pure,  an  angel.  Were  they  always  thus 
limited  and  applied,  the  words  would  carry  meaning.  As 
matters  stand,  they  carry  no7ie,  since  no  two  writers  use 

227 


22b 


NATURAL  FOUNDATION  OF  LANOUAGE. 


tlieni  alike.  That  psychologists  should  have  been  content 
to  go  on  discussing  about  the  soul,  year  after  year,  and  yet 
have  allowed  the  sense  of  their  text-word  to  go  irreclaiinably 
adrift,  certainly  is  no  credit  to  them;  nor  is  it  surprising 
that  they  have  made  so  little  way.  Till  a man  is  prepared 
to  state  the  exact  significance  which  he  attaches  to  his 
terms,  and  till  he  has  learned  to  be  consistent  in  the  use  of 
them,  it  is  better  both  for  himself  and  for  the  world  that  he 
should  fling  away  his  pen. 

140.  Together  with  the  equivalent  words  in  Hebrew, 
Greek,  Latin,  Sanscrit,  and  other  languages,  soul,  spirit,  and 
ghost  literally  denote  Air  or  Breath.  The  metaphor  is  emi- 
nently just  and  beautiful,  seeing  that  the  air  is  the  physical 
image  and  representative  of  Life;  and  that  it  is  in  the  invi- 
sible, spiritual  part  of  man  that  Life  is  supremely  throned. 
It  is  a truth  alike  of  Scripture,  philosophy,  physiology,  and 
poetry,  that  the  Breath  is  the  representative  of  Life.  It 
stands  in  the  first  place  as  symbol  of  the  organic  life; 
secondly,  and  in  superior  degree,  as  symbol  of  the  spiritual 
life.  What  language,  by  its  intuitional  usages,  broadly 
asserts,  the  expositors  of  truth  ratify  and  substantiate. 
Language  indeed,  or  Philology,  in  its  highest  sense,  is  only 
another  name  for  Philosophy.  We  have  seen  above  how 
intimately  the  air  is  connected  with  organic  life;  that  Respi- 
ration is  the  beginning,  and  ceasing  to  breathe,  the  end. 
Because  of  this  connection,  all  the  primitive  names  applied 
to  organic  life  were  simply  transfers  of  the  current  appella- 
tions of  the  wind;  subsequently,  by  virtue  of  the  corres- 
pondence of  the  organic  with  the  spiritual,  the  same  names 
were  extended  upwards  to  the  soul.  Every  one  of  these 
names  denotes  accordingly,  in  addition  to  air  or  wind,  the 
life  of  the  body,  and  is  tlius  possessed  not  merely  of  a two- 
fold, l)ut  of  a tri[)le  meaning.  There  is  nothing  singular  in 
tliis.  It  exemplifies  a general  princi])le.  No  word  either 


MEANING  OF  THE  WORD  SOUL 


229 


does  or  can  denote  a spiritual  thing  without  at  the  same 
time  denoting  both  a physiological  or  organic,  and  a phy- 
sical or  inorganic  thing.  The  reason  is,  that  language  rests 
universally  upon  objective  Nature,  and  that  objective  Na- 
ture, in  turn,  is  universally  representative  of  spiritual  things, 
proximately  in  its  organic  forms,  remotely  in  its  inorganic 
ones.  The  spiritual  universally  carries  with  it  the  physio- 
logical, and  the  physiological  the  physical,  just  as  the 
capital  of  a column  involves  the  shaft,  and  the  shaft  the 
pedestal.  The  physical  and  physiological  meanings  of  words 
denoting  spiritual  things  may  be  obsolete,  but  they  are  there, 
nevertheless,  palpable  and  instructive  to  the  philosophic  eye, 
to  which  nothing  that  has  ever  had  a meaning  for  mankind, 
ever  absolutely  dies. 

141.  To  place  these  great  principles  in  the  clear  light  sup- 
plied by  facts,  let  us  briefly  examine  the  etymologies  of  the 
several  words.  If  it  serve  only  to  give  an  agreeable  variety 
to  the  general  subject,  the  time  will  not  be  spent  in  vain. 
‘‘Soul,”  as  the  most  celebrated  and  familiar,  naturally  comes 
first.  Soul,  (Anglo-Saxon  sawle,  German  seele,)  is  coinci- 
dent with  the  Latin  /lafitus,  breath,  derived  from  /ia^are,  to 
breathe,  a root  familiar  in  the  words  exhale,  mliale,  and 
itself  only  an  enlarged  form,  (like  (jaoc,  salus,)  of  the  earlier 
word  aeoj  or  dco,  a beautiful  onomatopceia,  expressive  in  its 
long,  open  vowels,  of  the  very  act  which  it  designates.  Per- 
mutation of  initial  sounds,  as  in  halitus  and  soul,  a sibilant 
taking  the  place  of  an  aspirate,  a dental  of  a labial,  &c.,  is 
one  of  the  most  common  phenomena  of  spoken  language. 
Colloquially,  and  in  miscellaneous  literature,  soul  is  not 
now  used  in  the  sense  of  “ breath but  in  the  authorized 
version  of  the  Scriptures,  or  the  English  language  of  1611, 
it  often  has  this  meaning.  In  1 Kings  xvii.,  for  instance, 

“There  was  no  breath  left  in  him; and 

the  Lord  heard  the  voice  of  Elijah,  and  the  soul  of  the  child 
20 


230 


MEANING  OF  THE  WORD  SOUL. 


came  into  him  again,  and  he  revived.’’  The  second  or  phy- 
siological sense  is  also  exliibited  in  the  Bible,  but  more  fre- 
quently in  secular  authors,  as  when  they  term  tlie  life  of 
brutes  the  “animal  soul.”  “There  are,”  says  Mr.  Blakey, 
“in  a certain  sense,  two  souls  in  man.  We  give  the  name, 
first,  to  that  physical  life  and  organic  power  which  we  pos- 
sess in  common  with  tlic  animal  and  vegetable  creation; 
secondly,  to  the  principle  of  sensibility  and  tliouglit,  the  soul 
which  thinks,  feels,  reasons,  and  judges,  and  exists  only  in 
man.”  (Vol.  1,  p.  61.)  In  the  original,  physical  sense  of 
the  word  soul,  all  creatures  whatever  have  souls,  inasmuch 
as  they  live  by  inhalation  or  breathing;  so  that  to  be  “a 
living  soul”  is  nothing  peculiar  to  man,  if  we  judge  by  the 
words  alone,  without  exploring  their  philosophy.  Many 
people,  naturally  ambitious,  and  unwiUing  to  observe  so 
many  agreements  as  there  are  between  themselves  and  the 
lower  forms  of  creation,  make  it  a matter  of  pride  that  our 
first  parents  were  formed,  as  they  suppose,  in  a manner  dif- 
ferent from  the  parents  of  other  animals.  “God,”  they 
remind  us,  “breathed  into  man’s  nostrils  the  breath  of  life, 
and  he  became  a living  soul,^’  a circumstance  not  mentioned 
of  the  progenitors  of  any  other  species  of  creature.  But 
neither  is  it  mentioned  of  the  first  species  of  any  other  crea- 
ture that  they  were  created  “male  and  female.”  This,  how- 
ever, can  well  afford  to  be  let  pass,  when  compared  with  the 
fact  that  the  distinction  apparently  established  by  the  words 
“living  soul,”  presents  itself  only  in  the  translation.  There 
is  no  such  distinction  in  the  Hebrew,  wliich  in  this  instance 
applies  identically  the  same  terms  to  man  and  to  brute. 
Each  was  made  n^n  {nej)hesh  chmjaJi,)  “a  living  soul;” 
only  our  translators  have  rendered  the  references  to  the 
brute  creation  (Gen.  i.  21,  24,)  living  creature  ” Either 
word  might  legitimately  be  substituted  for  the  other.  It  is 
amusing  that  while  many  have  entrenched  themselves  in 


MEANING  OF  THE  AVORD  GHOST. 


231 


this  phrase  of  ‘living  soul/’  and  found  in  it  man’s  inalien- 
able characteristic,  the  exactly  opposite  conclusion  has  been 
arrived  at  by  some  of  those  whose  curiosity  had  led  them  to 
the  original.  Both  brutes  and  man  being  called  “living 
creatures,”  or  “ living  souls,”  some  have  inferred  that  brutes 
are  as  immortal  as  man;  others  that  man  is  mortal  as 
brutes.  Man  differs  from  the  brutes  not  in  respect  of  his 
being  a “living  soul,”  which  is  simply  to  be  a “breather,” 
such  as  they  are;  but  in  respect  of  his  being  so  constituted 
as  to  be  recipient  of  the  knowledge  of  God,  and  of  power  to 
love  him.  Shakspere  accredits  the  Avord  soul  with  its  full, 
final  meaning,  namely,  the  spiritual  body  when  set  free  from 
flesh  and  blood: — 

Where  souls  do  couch  on  flowers,  we’ll  hand  in  hand, 

And  with  our  sprightly  port  make  the  ghosts  gaze. 

142.  Ghost,  (Anglo-Saxon  gast,  German  geist,')  shoAVS  its 
physical  meaning  in  the  cognate  Avord  “ gust,”  as  “ a gust  of 
Avind ;”  also  in  the  term  used  to  designate  the  aeriform  sub- 
stance called  “ gas.”  In  Old  German,  the  grand-parent  of 
English,  geisten  signified  to  bloAV.  In  a German  Bible  of 
the  year  1483,  “ the  breath  of  life”  is  translated  “ der  geist 
des  lebens.”  To  “ give  up  the  ghost”  is  literally,  to  sur- 
render the  breath ; the  “ Holy  Ghost”  is  literally  the  breath 
of  the  Lord,  as  implied  in  his  OAvn  Avords,  when  “ He 
breathed  on  his  disciples,  and  said.  Receive  ye  the  Holy 
Ghost.”  Where  the  English  version  of  the  Scriptures  has 
“ghost”  and  “spirit,”  the  Anglo-Saxon  reads 
Wiclif,  in  his  New  Testament,  spells  “the  holi  goost^  The 
“ gist”  of  a subject,  like  the  “spirit”  of  a book,  or  the  animm 
of  an  action,  signifies  its  soul  or  inmost  principle.  In  Ger- 
man, geist  continues  to  be  used  in  many  of  the  meanings 
which,  with  ourselv^*?  q.re  conveyed  by  “ spirit.”  Thus — 


232 


SPIRIT. 


Was  der  Geist  versprecht  leistet  die  Natnr. — Schiller. 

^^Wliat  the  Spirit  promises,  Nature  performs.’^ 

143.  Spirit,  (Latin  spiritiis,)  takes  us  to  the  very  origin 
of  words,  resting  on  the  beautiful  lisp  or  whisper  with  which 
the  breezes  quiver  the  leaves.  All  words,  we'  may  observe, 
are  expansions  of  a few  hundred  primitive  onomatopoeias, 
more  or  less  obviously  preserved  in  them,  and  which,  like 
the  sp  in  spirit,  constitute  their  ultimate  ‘‘  roots.” 

Fresh  gales  and  gentle  airs 
Whisper’d  it  to  the  woods. — Paradise  Lost. 

And  there  is  heard  the  ever-moving  air 
Whisp’ring  from  tree  to  tree. — Shelley. 

In  solitudes 

Her  voice  came  to  me  through  the  whisp’ring  woods. — Ib. 

Virgil  shows  the  etymology  at  a glance,  for  who  that  knows 
aught  of  the  sweet  music  of  nature  does  not  perceive  that 
the  bare  idea  of  blowing  is  the  least  part  of  his  aurcis  spi- 
rantes  f The  Greek  form  of  the  word,  is  one  of 

the  most  beautiful  onomatopoeias  extant  in  any  language, 
sings  Theocritus — 

*^A6v  Ti  rd  ipidvpi(Tfxa  Kai  a -rrirvgP 

Sweet  is  the  whisper  of  the  wind  among  the  fir-trees 

Whoever  wrote  that  little  gem  of  the  Orphica,  the  hymn  to 
the  Zephyrs, 

avpai  TTOVToytveXg  ZecpvptriSegf  rjcpo^oXTOiy 
tldvTTPOOlf  IplOvpalf 

the  introduction  of  this  one  word  is  enough  to  announce 
him  Poet.  Now-a-days  a man  can  adopt  epithets  from  a 
thousand  j)redeccssors ; the  Greek  had  only  nature,  and  his 
own  aj)t,  living,  luxuriant  heart.  Virgil  not  only  illustrates 
the  origin  of  the  word  spirit,  but  its  several  applications. 


SPIRIT  AND  ITS  COGNATE  TERM. 


233 


Til  us,  as  given  to  the  breath,  in  that  charming  description 
where  Iris,  mingling  with  the  exiled  Trojan  ladies  as  they 
walk  mourning  by  the  sea,  though  she  has  laid  aside  her 
goddess’  vestments,  and  personates  a decrepid  old  woman,  is 
still  unable  to  conceal  herself : 

Non  Beroe  vobis,  non  hsec  Bhoeteia,  matres 
Est  Dorycli  conjux : divini  signa  decoris, 

Ardentesque  notate  oculos : qiii  spiritus  illi, 

Qui  vultus,  vocisve  sonus,  vel  gressus  eunti. 

“ Matrons,  this  is  not  Beroe  who  stands  before  you,  not  the  wife 
of  Doryclus.  Mark  here  the  characters  of  divine  beauty ! See  how 
bright  her  eyes  ! What  fragrance  in  her  breath  ! What  majesty  in 
her  looks  ! Or  mark  the  music  of  her  voice,  and  the  graceful  mien 
with  which  she  moves 

It  denotes  Life  where  JEneas  is  heard  protesting  fidelity 
to  the  too-confiding,  ill-requited  Dido : 

Nec  me  meminisse  pigebit  Elisse 
Dum  memor  ipse  mei,  dum  spiritus  hos  reget  artus ! 

Never  shall  I be  slow  to  think  of  Dido,  while  I retain  any 
recollection  of  myself,  or  life  to  actuate  these  limbs 

144.  In  connection  with  the  word  spirit,  it  is  interesting 
to  note  the  cognate  term  spiral,”  seeing  that  it  involves 
the  same  idea.  Similarly  derived  from  spiro  to  blow,  its 
fundamental  allusion  is  to  the  well-known  phenomenon  of 
the  spiral  movement  of  the  wind.  Now  this  peculiar  move- 
ment, the  spiral,  delineates  a Form,  which  form  thus  be- 
comes an  emblem  or  pictorial  representative  of  the  wind, 
and  thence  of  what  the  wind  itself  represents,  namely.  Life. 
All  forms  are  representative,  and  their  significance  is  the 
science  of  sciences.  There  are  lower,  higher,  and  highest 
forms.  Forms  made  up  of  straight  lines,  and  thus  angular, 
with  flat  surfaces,  as  crystals,  are  of  the  lowest  degree,  and 
accord  with  what  is  inorganic,  inanimate,  and  basal  gene- 
20 


234 


THE  SPIRAL  FORM. 


rally.  Next  comes  tlie  form  of  which  the  sphere  and  the 
circle  are  the  type — a form  derived  from  the  extension  of 
the  primitive  point  in  all  directions,  and  which  is  essentially 
connected  with  the  organic  and  animate.  Whatever  in  the 
universe  exhibits  a totality,  is  always  a solid  circle  or  sphere. 
Portions  of  circles,  or  curves,  conjoined  with  the  straight 
line  and  angle,  give  that  innumerable  variety  of  profiles 
and  configurations  which  we  see  among  animals  and  plants. 
Rarely  is  the  curve  found  in  the  inorganic  department  of 
creation.  Only  perhaps  in  the  spherules  of  quicksilver,  on 
the  convex  side  of  drops  of  water  and  other  liquids,  in  bub- 
bles, and  in  some  few  minerals.  In  the  degree  that  crystals 
multiply  their  surfaces,  and  thus  lose  their  great  angles  and 
facets,  they  approach  the  spherical  or  organic  form.  The 
dodecahedron,  for  examj)le,  approaches  the  sphere  more 
nearly  than  the  octohedron ; the  octohedron  more  nearly 
than  the  cube.  Highest  of  all  is  the  Spiral  form,  which  in 
its  own  highest  kind,  or  as  produced  by  winding  a thread 
round  a cylinder,  is  the  circle  infinitely  continued.  The 
circle  returns  into  itself,  ending  where  it  began ; but  the 
possible  beginning  and  ending  of  a spiral  the  imagination 
cannot  conceive.  The  spiral,  therefore,  rather  than  the 
circle,  is  the  true  symbol  of  eternity.  The  spiral  form  is 
identified  with  no  department  of  creation  in  particular, 
because  an  emblem  of  the  omnipresent  principle  which 
equally  sustains  all.  It  shows  itself  most  remarkably  in 
the  Vegetable  kingdom,  where  it  is  the  law  of  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  leaves,  and  thus  of  the  buds  and  flowers. 
Almost  all  the  wonderful  diversities  in  the  contour  of  plants 
come  of  their  sj)irals  of  development  being  more  or  less 
stretched  or  contracted.  Thus,  alternate  leaves  become 
o])positc  by  a slight  contraction ; opposite  ones  become  ver- 
ticillate  })y  a greater.  Flowers  universally  are  produced  by 
the  contraction  of  the  spiral  into  a series  of  concentiic 


ANIMA  AND  ANIMUS. 


235 


rings,  the  highest  part  of  the  spiral  becoming  the  centre, 
and  its  lowest  part  the  circumference.  Certain  fruits,  as  fir- 
cones, show  the  spiral  in  the  most  beautiful  manner.  In- 
ternally, plants  abound  with  a delicate  kind  of  veins  known 
as  “ spiral  vessels.”  Stems,  cgain,  which  are  too  slender  to 
stand  upright,  lift  themselves  into  the  air  by  twining  spirally 
round  a stronger  neighbor.  As  respects  the  animal  king- 
dom, the  spiral  is  a frequent  and  beautiful  feature  in  uni- 
valve shells ; where  also,  as  in  plants,  much  of  the  wonderful 
variety  comes  of  the  spiral  being  more  or  less  contracted. 
In  the  lovely  genera  Cerithium,  Pleurostoma,  Fusus,  Tur- 
ritella,  &c.,  one  extreme  is  shown;  in  Cyprsea,  Conus, 
Strombus,  &c.,  the  other.  The  beautiful  spiral  by  which 
the  Vorticell^e  extend  and  retract  themselves  gives  to  the 
movements  of  these  little  creatures  an  elegance  and  spright- 
liness unsurpassed.  In  human  organization  the  sj^iral  is 
less  observable,  except  that  it  adorns  the  head  with  curls 
and  ringlets.  Human  life,  on  the  other  hand,  is  one  un- 
broken, endless  spiral,  and  here  we  realize  the  greatness  and 
amplitude  of  the  significance  of  the  spiral  Form.  Life 
winds  its  little  circles,  hour  by  hour,  day  by  day,  year  by 
year,  faithfully  concluding  each  before  another  is  begun,  but 
never  failing  to  commence  afresh  where  it  left  off,  and  so 
goes  on  everlastingly,  ring  rising  upon  ring,  every  circle 
covering  and  reiterating  its  predecessors,  on  a higher  level, 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  heavens.  The  material  body  drops 
away,  like  dead  leaves,  but  Life  goes  on,  in  beautiful  and 
ceaseless  aspiration.  Nowhere  in  nature  is  there  a more 
charming  emblem  of  Life  than  the  common  scarlet  or 
twining  bean  of  our  gardens,  while  rising  to  its  maturity. 

145.  Animus,  the  usual  Latin  word  for  the  soul,  short- 
ened in  French  into  time,  is  the  same  word  as  anima,  the 
wind,  in  Greek  whence  the  pretty  name  anemone, 

or  wind-flower  The  subordinate  senses  are  preserved,  like 


236 


PSYCHE. 


those  of  spiritus,  in  the  Latin  authors.  Thus,  ‘‘  aurarumque 
leves  animce/^  “the  light  breezes  of  the  Avinds (Lucretius 
V.  237.)  “Ah  niiserain  Lurydicen,  ammd  fugiente,  vocabat,’’ 
“Ah,  unfortunate  Eurydice,  he  cries  with  his  fast-fleeting 
breath.’’  (Georgic  iv.  526.)  The  earlier  etymological  his- 
tory is  found  in  the  Sanscrit  language,  in  which  breath  is 
called  anas  and  miilaSj  the  root  being  an.  Tliough  essen- 
tially the  same  word,  a useful  practical  distinction  is  made 
in  Latin  between  the  two  forms  anima  and  animws;  the  for- 
mer being  restricted,  in  its  figurative  ascent,  to  the  organic 
life,  whence  it  is  usually  translated  “ life,”  “ vital  principle,” 
or  “ animal  soul while  to  the  latter  is  allowed  the  higher 
meaning  of  spiritual  life,  whence  it  is  generally  translated 
“ rational  soul — 

Mundi 

Principio  indulsit  communis  conditor  illis 
Tantum  animas,  nobis  animum  quoque,  &c. 

Juvenalj  Sat.  xv.  147. 

“ In  the  beginning  of  the  world,  the  Creator  vouchsafed  to  brutes 
only  the  principle  of  vitality ; to  us  he  gave  souls  also,  that  an  in- 
stinct of  affection,  reciprocally  felt,  might  urge  us  to  seek,  and  to 
give,  assistance.” 

146.  the  Greek  word  generally  understood  to 

mean  “ soul,”  comes  from  (poy^co  to  blow,  and  would  seem 
to  be  of  kindred  onomatopoetic  origin  with  spiritus.  K at  pot 
dvaipu^eco^.^  “ the  times  of  refreshing,”  (Acts  hi.  19)  is  lite- 
rally “ the  times  of  the  blowing  of  the  cool  wind.”  There 
is  a good  deal  of  misconception  as  to  this  famous  word. 
What  it  ordinarily  intends  in  Greek  literature,  both  sacred 
and  secular,  is  not  the  spiritual,  immortal  part  of  man,  biit 
his  animal  or  time-life.  “ Take  no  thought  for  your  life” — • 
fiTj  fLEptpvdrE  r'^c  with  the  context,  well  illus- 

trates its  ordinary  New  Testament  significance.  In  Lev. 
xvi.  3,  fisJics  are  (tailed  Conformably  with  ihe^e 


PNEIIMA. 


237 


usages,  “ tlie  natural  body,’’  i.  e.,  the  material  body,  endowed 
with  organic,  animal  life  only,  and  belonging  exclusively  to 
the  temporal  world,  is  termed  by  St.  Paul,  ao)ixa  (pu'^txbv^ 
while  the  spiritual,  immortal  body  be  calls  OMfia  nveufiarc- 
xov.  Undoubtedly,  ^^soul”  in  its  high,  metaphysical  and 
theological  senses,  is  occasionally  intended  by  ; but  its 
most  useful  signification  is  simply  the  life  which  animates 
the  temporary,  material  body.  Many  of  the  ancients  attri- 
buted to  the  latter  all  that  is  psychological  as  well  as  physi- 
ological in  our  nature.  With  these,  accordingly,  in- 

cludes both  ‘‘life”  and  “mind,”  or  anima  and  animus,  and 
is  their  collective  appellation.* 

147.  What  is  generally  intended  in  to-day’s  English  by 
“ soul,”  e.,  the  immortal,  thinking  part  of  man,  is  in  Greek 
mostly  called  7iveiJ[xa.  Translators  render  it  “spirit.”  The 
primary  or  physical  sense  is  illustrated  by  St.  John — “the 
wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth  and  the  secondary  or  physi- 
ological one  by  St.  Matthew — “ Jesus  yielded  up  the  ghost, 
(xxvii.  50,)  nveufia  being  the  Greek  word  in  both  cases. 
When  in  the  New  Testament  (poy^rj  and  Tzvvjfxa  occur  in 
juxtaposition,  the  sense  is  tantamount  to  the  colloquial 
phrase  “ life  and  soul.”  But  they  are  translated  soul  and 
spirit,”  as  in  Heb.  iv.  12,  fostering  the  popular  mistake  that 
the  soul  (theologically  so  called)  and  the  spirit  are  distinct 
things.  Nothing  can  exceed  the  confusion  into  which  even 
intelligent  people  are  often  unconsciously  drawn,  through 
the  want  of  a clear  understanding  of  the  great  truth,  so  sub- 
lime in  its  simplicity,  “ that  there  is  a natural  body,  and 
there  is  a spiritual  body,” — not  there  will  he,  but  there  is, 
and  that  this  spiritual  body  is  the  ever-living  soul  or  spirit, 
if  any  doubt  the  existence  of  such  confusion,  let  them  read 


* On  Homer’s  use  of  the  word,  see  a learned  paper  from  the  Ger- 
man of  Voelcker,  in  the  Classical  Museum  for  1845. 


238 


SPIRIT,  SOU].,  AND  BODY. 


Wesley’s  41st  hymn — “And  am  I born  to  die?”  and  see  if 
they  can  shut  the  book  with  the  least  glimmering  of  com- 
prehension of  what  it  means.  “ Spirit,  soul,  and  body,”  as 
in  1 Thess.  v.  23,  is  a Scriptural  pcri})hrase  for  the  whole 
man,  as  he  exists  during  his  time-life;  “spirit”  denoting  the 
life  of  the  intellect  and  affections,  or  of  the  internal  man ; 
“ soul”  the  life  of  the  body,  as  exercised  in  the  appetites  and 
animal  instincts ; “ body”  the  sacred  instrument  with  which 
those  lives  are  enabled  to  be  played  forth  into  the  world. 
Soul  and  body,  or  and  awim^  have  reference  to  this 

world  only ; spirit,  or  7rv£?)/i«,  belongs  also  to  the  world  to 
come.  Consentaneously  with  this,  man  is  Scripturally 
called  “ flesh”  when  his  mortality  is  the  subject  of  discourse ; 
“soul”  when  his  animal  propensities  are  chiefly  alluded  to; 
“spirit”  when  his  intellectual  or  emotional  nature  or  the  in- 
ternal man,  is  the  theme.  The  ghosts,  or  disengaged  spirit- 
ual bodies  of  the  dead,  are  called  TTveu/mza,  or  “spirits,”  by 
the  inspired  writers,  on  a principle  already  set  forth. 

148.  The  Hebrew  words  corresponding  with  soul,  &c.,  of- 

fer precisely  similar  histories,  nn  (ruahh)  denotes  the  wind 
in  Gen.  viii.  1 ; breath,  frequently;  temporal  life,  in  the  his- 
tory of  Samson — “when  he  had  drank,  his  spirit  came 
again ;”  spiritual  life,  and  life  in  the  general  sense,  or  the 
all-sustaining  energy  of  the  Creator,  also  very  often. 
(nephesh)  and  {neshamali)  are  equivalents  in  every 

way.  A minute  exposition  of  the  application  of  these 
words,  constitutes,  along  with  relevant  matter,  an  invalu- 
able little  book  by  the  Rev.  George  Bush,  Professor  of  He- 
brew at  New  York — “ Soul,  or  an  Inquiry  into  Scriptural 
Psychology.”  New  York,  1845. 

149.  Comparing  these  various  facts,  the  conclusion  w<' 
come  to  is,  tliat  while  on  the  one  liand,  the  soul  is  no  mere 
apj)endage  to  human  nature,  shapeless  and  incomprehensi- 
ble, or  at  best,  “ life ;”  on  the  other  hand,  that  wondrous 


THE  BODY  THE  APPENDAGE  TO  THE  SOUL.  289 


spiritual  body  in  which  we  find  it,  is  the  veritable,  essential 
Man — 12086 — “ the  man  in  the  man.”  Kightly  regarded,  it  is 
not  the  soul  that  is  the  appendage,  but  the  body.  As  a mate- 
rial body,  it  is  admirable  and  incomparable ; but  placed  be- 
side that  which  alone  gives  dignity  and  glory  to  the  idea  of 
man,  it  confesses  itself  no  more  than  a piece  of  mechanism, 
spread  over  him  for  awhile,  in  order  that  during  his  reten- 
tion of  it,  he  may  act  on  the  material  world  and  its  inhabit- 
ants, and  fashion  his  intellect  and  moral  character.  It  is 
the  strong  right  arm  with  which  he  is  impowered  to  enforce 
his  arbitrations.  Man  is  created  for  heaven,  not  for  earth ; 
therefore  he  is  fundamentally  a spiritual,  and  only  provi- 
sionally a material  being.  The  etdo(^  of  his  nature  is  the 
spiritual  body;  the  material  is  only  its  eUdcoXov.^  The 
eld(oXov  is  first  to  mortal  eyes  and  understanding ; but  the 
spiritual  el'do(;  is  the  first  to  fact  and  truth ; just  as  the  ut- 
tered word  is  the  first  to  the  listener,  but  the  invisible, 
underlying  thought  the  first  to  the  speaker.  Truly  and 
beautifully  has  man  been  called  a ‘‘word”  of  the  Creator. 
The  spiritual  body  is  the  seat  of  all  thought,  all  emotion, 
all  volition ; excepting,  of  course,  such  purely  animal  voli- 
tion as  belongs  to  the  organic  life,  and  is  participated  in  by 
the  brutes.  The  material  body  does  no  more  than  fulfill  the 
instincts  of  its  own  proper  organic  or  brute  life,  save  when 
the  spiritual  body  gives  forth  a mandate.  Intimately  com- 
bined with  its  envelope  till  the  latter  wears  out,  or  falls 
sick,  and  dies,  the  spiritual  body  then  renounces  all  connec- 
tion with  it ; throws  it  back  into  its  native  dust,  as 


* The  difference  between  fWoj  and  eUw\ov  is  not  generally  discri- 
minated by  the  lexicons  as  it  deserves ; — eUos  denotes  the  true,  es- 
sential form  of  a thing;  ct^wXoj/,  on  the  contrary,  the  apparent, 
painted,  or  external : cikoXov  is  the  diminutive  of  cWo?  not  in  reference 
to  extent  or  bulk,  but  in  respect  of  perfection  and  essence. 


210 


SLEEP  OF  THE  SOUL. 


the  snake  casts  his  enamelPd  skin : 

or  as 

The  grasshoppers  of  the  summer  lay  down  their  worn-out  dresses,* 

and  becomes  conscious  of  the  Better  Land.  Its  own  life 
goes  on  as  before.  At  least  there  is  not  the  sliglitest  reason 
to  suppose,  either  on  Scriptural  or  philosophical  grounds, 
that  its  vital  activity  is  for  one  instant  suspended.  Tlie 
notion  that  the  soul  falls  into  a kind  of  sleep  or  lethargy,  on 
the  death  of  the  body,  though  a very  common  one,  is  indeed 
utterly  at  variance  both  with  the  deductions  of  philosopliy 
and  the  intimations  of  Holy  Writ,  which  plainly  informs  us 
that  the  spirit  rises  immediately  after  death,  as  in  ihe  para- 
ble of  Lazarus  and  the  rich  man,  and  in  the  address  of  our 
Saviour  to  the  crucified  thief,  This  dmj  shaft  thou  be  with 
me  in  Paradise;’’  a prophecy,  moreover,  impossible  on  any 
other  understanding  than  that  of  a spiritual  body.  Just 
what  the  soul  is,  when  it  shakes  off  the  material  envelope,  it 
continues  to  he,  retaining  all  its  loves,  desires,  and  inclina- 
tions, be  they  good  or  evil,  pure  or  impure;  and  upon  these 
it  goes  on  expending  its  life,  the  only  difference  being  in  the 
immediate  results  to  the  indis  idual,  seeing  that  the  sphere 
wherein  those  loves,  &c.  are  now  played  forth,  is  absolutely 
spiritual,  and  governed  by  laws  and  conditions  of  its  own. 
Of  the  origin  of  the  notion  of  the  soul’s  sinking  into  a state 
of  torpor  after  death,  there  can  be  no  doubt.  Like  most 
other  falsities  in  psychology,  and  like  many  in  theology,  it 
comes  of  false  physiology,  and  is  directly  traceable  to  the 
materialist’s  figment  that  life  is  a function  of  organization, 
the  corollary  of  which  is,  that  as  there  is  no  visible  organi- 


* ut  olim 

Cum  veteres  ponunt  tmiicas  sestate  cicadae. 

Lucketius,  Lib.  iv.  55-56. 


MAN  A DENIZEN  OF  TWO  WORLDS. 


241 


zation  but  that  of  matter,  therefore  matter  is  essential  to 
man’s  existence ; and  thus,  that  when  denuded  of  it  at  death, 
his  soul  collapses  into  an  insensate,  motionless,  incompetent 
nothing,  so  to  remain  till  reclothed  with  flesh  and  blood. 
But  this,  as  we  have  seen,  is  altogether  fallacious.  Man  is 
a thinking,  feeling,  immortal  creature,  not  by  virtue  of  his 
.material  body,  but  by  virtue  of  his  spiritual  body.  From 
the  first  moment  of  his  existence,  he  is  an  inhabitant  both 
of  the  material  and  of  the  spiritual  world.  He  dwells  con- 
sciously in  the  one,  unconsciously  in  the  other;  and  the 
change  induced  on  him  by  death  ” is  simply  that  this  state 
of  matters  is  reversed.  That  is,  he  then  dwells  consciously 
in  the  spiritual  world,  but  is  no  longer  a percipient  of  the 
material  one.  Why,  during  his  first  state,  he  sees  and 
knows  nothing,  consciously,  of  the  spiritual  world,  is  that  he 
is  blindfolded  by  the  muddy  vesture  of  decay.”  Why  he 
is  afterwards  unconscious  of  the  material  world,  is  that  in 
order  to  realize  it,  he  must  possess  an  appropriate  material 
organism.  We  live  in  vhe  spiritual  world,  all  of  us,  as  per- 
sons blind  from  birth  live  in  the  present  material  one,  i,  e., 
in  it,  but  not  seeing  it;  and  the  death  of  the  material  body 
(which  involves  the  permanent  opening  of  the  spiritual 
sight)  is  like  the  couching  of  the  eyes  of  such  persons  by  an 
oculist,  and  enabling  them  to  see  what  surrounds  them.  In 
our  chapter  on  the  Future  State,  this  will  receive  its  due 
meed  of  illustration. 

150.  That  there  are  many  and  great  difficulties  in  con- 
ceiving of  the  mystery  of  the  spiritual  body,  that  is,  of  the 
Soul,  has  already  been  amply  conceded.  He  who  would 
affect  to  deny  them  would  only  betray  his  ignorance  both 
of  himself  and  his  subject.  Embedded  as  we  are  in  the 
material,  the  mind  needs  first  to  assume  the  doctrine,  and 
then  gradually  ascend  to  the  verification.  Following  a clue, 
and  knowing  what  we  are  looking  for,  the  evidence  is  found. 

21  L 


242 


DIFFICULTIES  IN  KECAllI)  TO  THE  SOUL. 


We  act  no  differently,  day  by  day,  wlien  we  enter  on  the 
study  of  any  new  and  comprehensive  subject  in  physical  or 
physiological  science.  Not  that  this  is  a new  doctrine,  but 
only  an  unfamiliar  one.  ‘^It  is  a venerable  creed,  like  a 
dawn  on  the  peaks  of  thought,  reddening  their  snows  from 
the  light  of  another  sun,  the  substance  of  immemorial  reli- 
gions, the  comfort  of  brave  simplicity,  though  the  doubt  of 
to-day,  and  the  abyss  of  terrified  science.’’  It  is  hard,  for 
instance,  to  think  at  first  of  spiritual  form,  because  all  our 
ordinary  experience  of  form  presses  upon  us  the  idea  of  ma- 
terial solidity.  It  is  hard,  likewise,  to  think  how  the  spiritual 
body  is  circumstanced  with  regard  to  what  in  the  material 
world  are  called  Time  and  Space.  Accustomed  as  we  are 
to  regard  space  and  the  spiritual  as  antithetical,  we  are  at 
first  quite  indisposed  to  admit  that  a spiritual  being  can  be 
bounded  by  space.  It  is  true,  nevertheless.  Nothing  but 
Deity  can  be  everywhere  at  once.  There  must  be  portions 
even  of  the  spiritual  world  where  a given  spirit  is  not. 
Therefore  the  spiritual  body  is  subject  to  a condition  at  all 
events  answering  to  space.  Again,  it  is  hard,  nay,  it  is  im- 
possible, to  conceive  of  what  may  be  called  the  procreation 
and  birth  of  the  spiritual  body,  and  in  what  mode  and 
respect  these  are  concurrent  with  the  procreation  and  birth 
of  the  material  body.  We  can  satisfy  ourselves  of  nothing 
more  than  that  God  creates  the  soul  when  needed,  and  not 
before.*  The  organization  of  the  spiritual  body  is  equally 


* For  opinions  on  the  subject,  see  Dickinson^s  Physica  Vetus  et 
Vera,  cap.  II ; Blakey’s  History  of  the  Philosophy  of  the  Mind,  vol. 
1,  p.  197;  and  Clowes’  Fourth  Letter  on  the  Human  Soul.  The 
famous  doctrine  of  the  ^‘pre-existence”  of  the  soul,  it  is  beside  our 
present  purpose  to  discuss.  See,  for  an  enthusiastic  defence  of  it, 
Lux  Orierhtalis,  or  an  Enquiry  into  the  opinions  of  the  Eastern 
Sages,  concerning  the  pre-existence  of  the  Soul.”  12mo.,  1662. 


DIFFICULTIES  ARE  NO  OBJECTION. 


243 


beyond  the  range  of  man’s  present  powers.  There  can  be 
little  doubt,  however,  that  instead  of  a simple  homogeneity, 
as  commonly  supposed,  the  soul  is  eminently  composite. 
‘‘  There  are  some  things  in  Paul’s  description  of  the  spiritual 
body,”  says  Dr.  Hitchcock,  which  make  it  quite  probable 
that  its  organization  will  be”  (or  rather  is)  ‘^much  more 
exquisite  than  anything  in  existence  on  earth.  He  repre- 
sents the  spiritual  body  as  far  transcending  the  material 
body  both  in  glory  and  power;  and  since  the  latter  is  ‘fear- 
fully and  wonderfully  made,’  nothing  but  the  most  exquisite 
organization  can  give  the  spiritual  body  such  a superiority 
over  the  natural.”  (Religion  of  Geology,  Lect.  xiv.)  Then 
there  is  the  nature  of  the  sex  of  the  spiritual  body,  which  is 
as  immortal  as  itself,  albeit  that  in  heaven  “there  is  neither 
marrying  nor  giving  in  marriage.”  Sex,  in  its  true  idea, 
belongs  to  the  soul,  not  to  the  body,  in  which  it  is  only 
representatively  and  temporally  present.  This  fine  subject 
the  reader  may  see  treated  with  admirable  delicacy  and 
philosophy  in  Haughton’s  “Sex  in  the  Future  State.” 

151.  Because  of  such  difficulties,  and  because  too  intensely 
accustomed  to  the  material  to  welcome  such  propositions  as 
have  been  set  forth,  some  will  not  improbably  receive  them 
with  a laugh,  and  tax  us  at  least  with  superstition.*  Good. 
If  superstition  it  be  to  hold  such  views,  it  is  a superstition 
far  more  valuable  and  fertilizing  to  the  mind  than  all  that 
some  men  esteem  the  truth.  Putting  faith  before  charity  in 
all  they  do,  and  deceiving  themselves  by  substituting  nar- 


* It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  repeat  that  the  vulgar  notion  respect- 
ing ghosts,  including  “haunted  houses,”  “spirit-rapping,”  white 
sheets,  &c.,  &c.,  is  altogether  apart  from  the  doctrine  of  the  spiritual 
body.  The  latter  is  Scriptural  and  philosophical,  whereas  the  for- 
mer is  neither,  but  utterly  contemptible,  and  does  notv  even  call  for 
the  disclaimer  which  would  asknowledge  it  to  deserve  one. 


244 


FACTS  AND  HYPOTHESES. 


row  and  exclusive  notions  for  a compreliensive  and  benign 
belief,  many  men's  ‘Hrutli”  is  nothing  but  traditional,  barren 
error.  We  ask  no  one  to  accept  uninquiringly,  and  should 
be  sorry  for  any  one  who  did.  What  a man  takes  upon 
trust,"  remarks  Locke,  ‘‘is  but  shreds,  which  however  well 
they  may  look  in  the  whole  piece,  make  no  considerable  ad- 
dition to  his  stock  who  gathers  them.  So  much  only  as  we 
ourselves  consider  and  comprehend  of  truth  and  reason,  so 
much  only  do  we  possess  of  real  and  true  knowledge.  The 
floating  of  other  men's  opinions  in  our  brains,  makes  us  not 
one  jot  the  more  knowing,  though  they  happen  to  be  true. 
Like  fairy  money,  they  turn  to  dust  when  they  come  to  be 
used."  On  the  other  hand,  let  no  one  too  hastily  reject. 
Disbelieve  after  inquiry,  if  you  see  cause  to ; but  never  begin 
with  disbelief.  Premature  condemnation  is  the  fool's  func- 
tion. It  goes  for  nothing  to  say  that  the  evidence  of  the 
truth  of  a proposition  does  not  appear.  Do  you  see  the 
evidence  of  its  falsity F Before  you  reject  a proposition  or 
series  of  propositions,  for  what  you  suppose  to  be  their  error, 
take  care  that  you  apprehend  all  their  truth;  or  as  Carlyle 
shrewdly  advises,  “ Be  sure  that  you  see,  before  you  assume 
to  oversee."  Indeed,  till  the  truth  of  a theme  be  appre- 
ciated, its  error,  if  any,  cannot  be  detected.  Such  doctrines 
as  this  of  the  spiritual  body  it  is  impossible  to  grasp  on  the 
instant.  They  must  be  thought  out,  from  the  data  which 
Scripture  supplies,  and  philosophy  illustrates.  Hypothetical 
though  they  may  be,  in  certain  points,  this  again  is  no  valid 
olqection,  since  without  hypothesis  it  is  impossible  to  advance 
a single  step.  “Philosophy  proceeds  upon  a system  of  credit; 
and  if  she  never  advanced  beyond  her  tangible  capital,  her 
wealth  would  not  be  so  enormous  as  it  is."*  Difficulty  in 
flnding  interpretation  of  anomalies  and  perplexities  “is  no 


* Kev.  W.  ThoniHon,  “Outlines  of  the  Laws  of  Tliouajht 


OPINIONS  OF  THE  FATHERS,  &C. 


245 


argument/’  as  Baden  Powell  truly,  observes,  ‘^against  the 
general  truth  of  a proposition ; nor  need  it  lead  us  into  ex- 
travagant and  gratuitous  speculations  to  bring  about  a pre- 
cise explanation  where  the  circumstances  do  not  furnish 
sufficient  data.  Having  once  grasped  firmly  a great  princi- 
ple, we  should  be  satisfied  to  leave  minor  difficulties  to  wait 
their  solution,  assured  that  time  will  clear  them  up,  as  it 
has  done  before  with  others.”  The  fact  is,  all  great  and 
sacred  truths,  and  there  are  none  grander  and  more  sacred 
than  this  of  the  spiritual  body,  come  to  us  at  first,  ‘‘like  the 
gods  in  Homer,  enveloped  in  blinding  mist.”  But  to  him 
whom  their  descent  to  earth  concerns, — ^to  him  who  stands 
most  in  need  of  their  help,  and  who  can  most  gratefully  ap- 
preciate, and  best  apply  the  privilege,  “the  cloud  becomes 
luminous  and  fragrant,  and  discloses  the  divinity  within.” 
The  eye  that  in  the  beginning  was  so  dim,  presently  feels 
itself  sparkle  and  dilate,  and  what  the  intellect  fails  to  read, 
the  quick  heart  interprets. 

As  when  the  moon  hath  comforted  the  night. 

And  set  the  world  in  silver  of  her  light. 

152.  It  may  be  interesting  to  conclude  the  argument  that 
the  soul  is  a spiritual  body  with  a few  citations  of  authors 
by  whom  the  doctrine  has  been  treated  or  approved.  Among 
the  Fathers  there  does  not  appear  to  have  been  one  who  re- 
garded the  soul  as  most  modern  authors  do.  They  seem 
rather  to  have  been  unanimous  as  to  its  corporeity,  though 
on  the  nature  of  this  corj^oreity  they  widely  difiTered.  Ter- 
tullian  argues  not  only  that  the  soul  is  a body,  and  that  it 
holds  the  human  form,  but  that  God  himself  is  a body,  for 
that  what  is  bodiless  is  nothing."*"  Augustin,  though  he  finds 


* De,  Anima,  near  the  beginning,  Opera,  p.  307 ; and  Adverms^ 
Praxeam,  ib.  p.  637.  (Ed.  Paris,  1641.) 

21 


246 


OPINIONS  OF  THE  FATHERS,  <&C. 


fault  with  Tertullian,  from  the  mistaken  notion  that  his 
views  involve  materialism,  by  no  means  rejects  them.* 
Theodotus  is  very  explicit;  yju  q adyfia  x.  t. 

‘Hhe  soul  also  is  a body,  for  the  apostle  says.  It  is  sown;’’ 
&c.f  Methodius,  also,  in  his  treatise  on  the  resurrection; 
‘'The  souls,”  says  he,  “created  by  the  Ci  cator  and  Father  of 
all,  are  (Tcd/mra  voepd^  intellectual  bodies,  and  adorned  as 
they  are,  with  members  which  are  perceived  by  reason, 
. . . . are  said  to  have  a tongue,  finger,  and  other 

parts,  as  in  the  case  of  Lazarus  and  the  rich  man.J  Maca- 
rius, the  celebrated  homilist,  observes — “Each  one,  according 
to  his  nature,  is  a body,  whether  angel  or  soul.  For  al- 
though these  bodies  are  attenuate,  nevertheless  they  are  in 
substance,  character,  and  figure,  according  to  the  respective 
subtleties  of  their  nature,  subtle  bodies;  in  like  manner  as 
the  body  we  now  possess  in  one  that  is  dense.”§ 

Suicer,  in  his  great  theological  cyclopaedia,  the  Thesaurus 
Ecclesiasticus,  article  may  be  consulted  for  more  of 

the  same  kind.  Passing  on  to  later  times,  we  find  the  doc- 
trine upheld  by  Lord  Bacon : — “ And  this  spirit  whereof  we 
speak,”  says  he,  “is  not  from  virtue,  or  energy,  or  act,  or  a 
trifle,  but  plainly  a body,  rare  and  invisible,  notwithstanding 
circumscribed  by  place,  quantitative,  real.”l|  Andrew  Bax- 


* See  the  vindication  of  Tertullian  in  Dr.  Edward  Burton’s 
“Bampton  Lectures,”  Appendix,  note  59,  1829. 

f Clemens  Alex.  Opera,  p.  791.  (Ed.  Paris,  1629.) 

X Tlie  curious  student  will  find  this  treatise  well  worth  attention, 
or  at  least  tlie  cxccrpta  given  in  that  inestimable  treasure-house  of 
Elegant  lOxtracts,  the  Myriobihlion  of  Pliotious,  pp.  907-932.  (Ed. 
Kouen,  1653.) 

2 Homily  iv.  Works,  p.  21.  (Ikl.  Paris,  1722.) 

II  History  of  Life  and  Death.  Works.  Vol.  xiv.,  p.  410. 


MODERN  AUTHORS  AND  THE  SPIRITUAL  BODY.  247 


ter,  in  his  Enquiry  into  the  Nature  of  the  Human  Soul, 
confesses  that  a difference  between  the  soul  after  the  death 
of  the  material  body,  and  a spiritual  body,  is  a difference  he 
cannot  comprehend.  Sennertus  adopts  the  doctrine  in  his 
Epitomes  Physicce."^  Cudworth,  likewise,  though  with  some 
diffident  reservations,  in  the  True  Intellectual  System: — 
‘‘Even  here,  in  this  life,  our  body  is,  as  it  were,  twofold,  in- 
terior and  exterior;  we  having,  besides  the  grossly  tangible 
bulk  of  our  outward  body,  another  interior,  spiritual  body, 
. . . . which  latter  is  not  put  into  the  grave  with  the 

other.”  (Page  806.)  The  introductory  chapter  of  one  of 
the  first  metaphysical  works  in  the  English  language,  But- 
ler’s Analogy  of  Religion,  though  it  does  not  speak  of  the 
doctrine  by  name,  in  argument  fully  acknowledges  it. 
From  recent  writers  may  be  selected  as  follows: — Monck 
Mason,  in  his  Creation  by  the  Immediate  Agency  of  God, 
written  in  reply  to  the  Vestiges,  after  describing  the  inces- 
sant atomic  change  of  the  material . body,  observes  in 
reference  to  the  preservation  of  its  identity. — “There  must 
be  a permanent  representative  within,  which  is  not  material, 
— which  is  the  Soul.”  Dr.  Moore,  in  the  Preface  to  his 
work  on  the  Power  of  the  Soul  over  the  Body,  defines  the 
former  as  “ a spiritual  being,  resident  in  the  body.”  “ The 
being,”  he  continues,  “that  now  feels,  thinks,  acts,  and  agi- 
tates the  vital  frame-work,  will  forever  be  subjected  to  affec- 
tions and  emotions,  wherever  it  may  dwell.”  Geoffrey  de 
St.  Hilaire  expresses  similar  opinions  in  a communication  to 
the  Royal  Academy  of  Sciences  at  Paris,  published  in  their 
Reports  for  1837.  Morell,  in  his  Elements  of  Psychology, 
is  disposed  to  call  the  mind  “a  spiritual  organism.”  “The 
real  man  consists  in  the  abiding  power  which  the  body  con- 
tains to  assimilate  everything  to  a given  form  and  idea.” 


* Lib.  viii.,  cap.  1.  Opera,  vol.  ii.,  p.  81. 


248 


MODERN  AUTHORS  ON  THE  REAL  MAN. 


Tlie  doctrine  is  set  forth  in  all  its  excellence  and  plenitude 
in  J.  J.  Garth  Wilkinson’s  masterly  work,  “The  Human 
Body,  and  its  connection  with  Man;”  also  in  the  “Anastasis” 
of  Professor  Bush,  and  in  the  Ilev.  E.  D.  Bendell’s  truly 
excellent  “Treatise  on  the  Peculiarities  of  the  Bible.” 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

TBUE  inEA  OF  YOUTH  AND  AGE, 

153.  The  phenomena  of  the  spiritual  expression  of  life 
are  the  operations  of  the  Intellect  and  Affections,  or  what 
phrenologists  term  the  Intellectual  and  the  Affective  facul- 
ties. Everything  which  belongs  to  man  as  a reasoning  and 
emotional  being,  is  included  in  these  two  great  divisions,  and 
the  language  of  nature  calls  them,  in  its  most  ancient  as 
well  as  in  its  most  modern  tongues,  the  Head  and  the  Heart. 
The  distinction  is  the  Scriptural  jone,  though  philosophy  is 
only  beginning  to  recognize  it.*  It  is  the  Intellect  and 
Affections,  accordingly,  which  essentially  express  human 
life ; for  the  life  of  the  body  is  but  the  life  of  an  animal, 
and  little  more  than  that  of  a tree.  All  things  eat,  and 
drink,  and  sleep,  and  propagate,  but  only  man  can  think 


* “ Metaphysicians,’’  says  Cory,  have  at  length  approximated  to 
a truth  which  in  the  metaphysics  of  Christianity,  is  laid  down  with 
as  much  perspicuity  and  decision  as  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  or 
any  other  of  those  points  which  have  been  so  continually  agitated 
among  philosophers,  modern  as  well  as  ancient.  The  distinction 
between  the  Intellect  and  the  Emotions  or  Afiections,  to  which, 
simple  as  it  may  appear,  such  laborious  approaches  have  been  made, 
through  the  thorny  paths  of  metaphysics,  is  clearly  drawn  in  the 
Scriptures,  and  the  respective  seats  of  them  assigned,  figuratively, 
but  most  naturally,  to  the  Head  and  Heart,  and  to  the  heart  the 
Scriptures  most  constantly  appeal.” — Metaphysical  Inquiries^  p.  200. 
(18^8.) 


L 


249 


250 


WORK  A LIVING  HYMN  OF  PRAISE. 


and  love.  Every  tiling  which  brings  genuine  delight  and 
dignity  to  human  existence — everything  implied  in  hope  and 
faith,  in  wisdom  and  affection,  comes  of  this  heavenly  boon. 
Introducing  man  firstly  to  the  loveliness  of  the  material 
creation,  which  to  the  brute  is  invisible ; afterwards  it  intro- 
duces him  to  the  immortal  splendors  of  the  spiritual  crea- 
tion, and  to  the  company  of  the  angels.  The  veritable 
golden  chain  let  do^Yn  from  heaven,  which  old  Homer  saw 
dimly,  the  life  of  the  Intellect  and  Affections  is  that  by 
which  man  is  allowed  to  become  sensible  how  near  and 
enduring  is  his  relation  to  his  Creator,  for  it  is  by  these 
alone  he  is  approachable.  Essentially  expressing  human 
life,  the  acquirements  of  these  two  great  spiritual  faculties, 
or  Ideas  and  Emotions,  are  man’s  only  genuine  Property. 
We  have  nothing  else  that  we  can  either  call  or  make  abso- 
lutely our  own ; we  need  nothing  besides,  for  these  comprise 
all  things  worth  possession.  They  are  the  cup  of  ambrosia 
presented  to  immortalized  Psyche. 

154.  With  such  a destiny  attached  to  it,  how  inestimable 
a prerogative  is  human  life ! And  what  ingratitude  to  mis- 
use it.  Life  may  be  m^sused  without  being  aZ^used.  It  is 
misused  if  it  be  not  so  employed  as  to  be  enjoyed,  L e.,  by 
making  the  most  of,  its  opportunities;  in  other  words, 
devoting  it  to  honorable  deeds,  affectional  as  well  as  intel- 
lectual. The  more  strenuously  we  enact  such  deeds,  the 
more  genuine,  because  practical,  is  our  acknowledgment  of 
the  Divine  goodness  in  bestowing  life,  and  the  keener  be- 
comes our  aptitude  for  sucking  the  honey  of  existence. 
Work  or  activity,  of  whatever  kind  it  be,  uprightly  and 
earnestly  pursued,  is  a living  hymn  of  praise.  It  is  truest 
o})edience  also,  for  it  is  God’s  great  law  that  whatever 
powers  and  aptitudes  he  lias  given  us,  shall  be  honorably 
and  zealously  employed.  The  energy  of  life,  when  fairly 
brought  out,  is  immense;  immense  beyond  what  any  one 


LIFE  INTENDED  TO  BE  HAPPY. 


251 


who  has  not  tried  it  can  imagine.  Too  often  neglected,  and 
allowed  to  lapse  into  weakness ; trained  and  exercised,  it 
will  quicken  into  grandeur.  It  is  better  to  wear  out  than  to 
rust  out,  says  a homely  proverb,  with  more  meaning  than 
people  commonly  suppose.  Eiist  consumes  faster  than  use. 
To  ‘^wear  out’’  implies  life  and  its  pleasures;  to  “rust,”  the 
stagnation  of  death.  Life,  rightly  realized,  is  embosomed 
in  light  and  beauty.  The  world  is  not  necessarily  a “vale 
of  tears.”  God  never  intended  it  to  be  so  to  any  one.  All 
his  arrangements  are  with  an  opposite  design,  and  to  be  ful- 
filled, only  need  man’s  response  and  cooperation.  True,  in 
his  all- wise  providence,  he  sends  troubles  upon  men,  and 
grievous  ones ; but  they  are  never  so  great  as  those  they 
bring  upon  themselves,  and  willingly  suffer.  What  shall  be 
our  experience  of  life  rests  mainly  with  ourselves.  The 
world  may  render  us  unfortunate,  but  it  cannot  make  us 
miserable ; if  we  are  so,  the  fault  lies  in  our  own  bosoms. 
It  is  not  only  the  great  who  order  their  own  circumstances. 
On  the  wide,  wild  sea  of  human  life,  as  on  that  where  go 
the  ships,  the  winds  and  the  waves  are  always  on  the  side 
of  the  clever  sailor.  Though  one  breast  prove  unfaithful, 
there  are  plenty  of  others  that  do  not.  It  is  still  our  OAvn 
to  rejoice  in  the  belief  of  the  good  and  beautiful,  and  to 
weave  out  of  this  belief  a perennial  happiness.  If  we  take 
precautions  to  form  and  preserve  a sound  estimate  of  what 
is  past,  the  joyful  experience  and  the  sorrowful  alike,  we 
rarely  have  cause  for  regret,  and  always  abundance  for  hope 
and  thankfulness;  for  that  which  spoils  life  is  seldom  so 
much  the  occurrence  of  certain  events,  as  the  perverted  recol- 
lection of  them,  and  of  this,  happy  events  no  less  than  un- 
happy ones  may  be  the  subject.  Even  if  a man  make  no 
effort  of  himself — if  he  be  so  neglectful  as  not  to  realize  the 
brilliant  opportunities  permitted  to  him,  so  fully  as  he  may, 
still  is  life  crowded  with  pleasures.  When  there  is  shadow, 


252 


Til  he  idea  of  longevity. 


it  is  because  there  is  sunshine  not  far  off.  Its  weeds  and 
tliorns  are  known  by  contrast  with  surrounding  flowers,  and 
though  upon  many  even  of  the  latter  there  may  be  rain- 
drops, those  that  are  without  are  yet  more  abounding. 
There  are  more  smiles  in  the  world  than  tliere  are  tears ; 
there  is  more  love  than  hate,  more  constancy  than  forsaking: 
those  that  murmur  the  contrary,  choose  not  for  thy  com- 
panions. When  the  mist  rolls  away  from  the  mountains, 
and  the  landscape  stands  suddenly  revealed,  we  find  that 
Nature  always  has  Beauty  for  her  end.  However  long  and 
dreary  may  be  the  winter,  we  are  always  indemnified  by  the 
sj)ring — not  merely  by  the  enjoyment  of  it  when  it  comes, 
but  by  the  anticipation.  So  with  the  mists  and  wintry  days 
of  life ; while  they  last  they  are  painful,  but  their  clearing 
away  is  glorious,  and  we  find  that  they  are  only  veils  and 
forerunners  of  something  bright.  Nature  never  forgets  her 
sestivalia,  nor  Divine  love  its  compensations.  The  common 
course  of  things,  says  Paley,  is  uniformly  in  favor  of  happi- 
ness. Happiness  is  the  rule,  misery  the  exception.  Else 
would  our  attention  be  called  to  examples  of  wealth  and 
comfort,  instead  of  disease  and  want. 

155.  Giving  full,  fair  play  to  the  intellect  and  affections, 
we  not  only  discover  what  it  is  to  live,  and  how  easy  to  live 
happily;  but  the  period  of  our  existence  upon  earth  ceases 
to  be  short,  and  becomes  immensely  long.  It  is  only  the 
life  of  the  body  which  is  short,  or  need  be  so.  Beal,  human 
life,  is  immeasurable,  if  we  will  have  it  so.  Each  day, 
remarks  Goethe  in  his  autobiography,  is  a vessel  into  which 
a great  deal  may  be  poured,  if  we  will  actually//^  it  up; 
that  is,  with  thoughts  and  feelings,  and  their  expression  into 
deeds,  as  elevated  and  amiable  as  we  can  reach  to.  It  needs 
little  reflection  to  perceive  tliat  life  truly  consists  only  in 
such  exercises.  ^‘The  mere  lapse  of  years  is  not  life.  To 
eat,  and  drink,  and  sleep,  to  be  exposed  to  the  darkness  and 


WE  LIVE  IN  DEEDS. 


253 


a 


17 


the  light,  to  pace  round  the  mill  of  habit,  and  turn  the  wheel 
of  wealth;  to  make  reason  our  book-keeper,  and  convert 
thought  into  an  implement  of  trade;  this  is  not  life.  In  all 
this  but  a poor  fraction  of  the  consciousness  of  humanity  is 
awakened,  and  the  sanctities  still  slumber  which  make  it 
most  worth  while  to  be.  Knowledge,  truth,  love,  beauty, 
goodness,  faith,  alone  give  vitality  to  the  mechanism  of  ex- 
istence.’’* 

Grandly  expressed  in  “Festus.” 

Life’s  more  than  breath,  and  the  quick  round  of  blood ; 

’Tis  a great  spirit  and  a busy  heart. 

W^e  live  in  deeds,  not  years;  in  thoughts,  not  breaths; 

In  feelings,  not  in  figures  on  a dial. 

We  should  count  time  by  heart-throbs.  He  most  lives 

Who  thinks  most,  feels  the  noblest,  acts  the  best. 

To  measure  life  by  years  is,  to  the  true  liver,  to  measure  it 
rather  by  ages.  If  we  do  not  feel  its  immensity,  it  is  to  con- 
fess to  inactivity  and  slumber.  When  we  would  ask  our- 
selves how  old  we  are,  we  should  find  that  we  must  cast  up, 
not  anniversaTries,  but  days  and  hours;  and  to  satisfy  ourselves 
how  long  our  life  has  already  been,  should  reflect,  not  on 
the  mere  animal  adjuncts  of  life,  but  on  the  books  we  have 
read,  the  agreeable  objects  we  have  had  before  our  eyes,  the 
pleasant  places  we  have  visited,  the  intercourses  of  friendship 
by  which  our  hearts  have  been  made  glad ; together  with 
the  aspirations  which  have  ennobled,  and  the  hopes  which 
have  cheered  us.  We  should  ‘Haste  in  thought  again”  the 
sweet  hours  spent  by  the  sea,  in  the  green  fields,  and  in  the 
woods,  and  the  shining;  balmy,  fragrant  moments,  each  in 
itself  a little  summer,  brought  by  the  tones,  the  smiles,  the 
touch,  of  our  Beloved.  These  are  the  things  that  make  Life. 


* Martineau,  “Endeavors  after  the  Christian  Life.’’ 

22 


254 


AGE  NO  MATTER  OF  BIRTH-DAYS. 


T1r3  Study  even  of  a single  science  adds  many  years  to  one's 
biography.  For  lie  who  busies  himself  with  chemistry,  or 
botany,  or  geology,  enjoys  a thousand  pleasant  tlioughts  in 
the  same  space  of  clock-time  wherein  the  indolent  and  incu- 
rious know  but  one;  and  every  onward  step  in  discovery 
becomes  a new  elixir  vitce.  Tlie  invention  of  logarithms, 
says  Laplace,  has  ‘lengthened  the  life  of  the  astronomer.'' 
As  truly  may  it  be  said  that  the  invention  of  the  microscope 
has  lengthened  the  life  of  the  physiologist.  Age,  accord- 
ingly, or,  as  it  would  be  better  to  call  it,  oldness,  in  its  high- 
est idea,  is  no  mere  matter  of  birth-days.  The  oldest  man, 
truly  so  called,  is  he  who,  giving  a free  and  cheerful  recog- 
nition to  life,  in  its  depth,  variety,  and  majesty,  has  enjoyed 
the  largest  number  of  agreeable  spiritual  experiences,  and 
retains  them  vividly  before  his  mind. 

156.  “Old,"  in  the  popular  sense  of  aged  and  decrepid  as 
to  body,  denotes  a state  of  things  which  pertains  to  man 
only  in  his  animal,  temporal  relations.  This  kind  of  oldness 
goes  along  with  eating,  drinking,  and  so  forth;  the  idea  of 
it,  therefore,  should  be  wholly  detached  from  the  mind  when 
we  w^ould  think  of  man  in  his  highest  or  spiritual  reality. 
The  soul  that  is  in  right  order  concerns  itself  little  about 
physical  age,  no  more  than  about  death ; for  youth  and  life 
preoccupy  its  interest.  Neither  does  it  feel  old  age  to  be  an 
evil.  Physical  old  age,  like  mortality,  is  afflictive  in  pro- 
portion to  the  want  of  inward  strength  to  fall  back  upon. 
“ It  is  painful,"  says  one  who  has  proved  the  value  of  such 
strength,  “ it  is  painful  to  grow  old,  to  lose  by  degrees  the 
suppleness,  strength,  and  activity  of  the  body;  to  perceive 
each  day  our  organs  becoming  weaker;  but  when  we  feel 
that  the  soul,  constantly  exercised,  becomes  daily  more 
reflective,  more  mistress  of  herself,  more  skilful  to  avoid, 
more  strong  to  sustain,  witliout  yielding  to  the  shock  of 
accidents,  gaining  on  the  one  hand  what  we  lose  upon  the 


THE  TIME  FOR  ENJOYMENT  NEVER  PASSED.  255 


other,  then  we  are  no  longer  sensible  of  growing  old.”  If 
the  soul  be  not  young,  youth  as  to  birth-days  has  no  advan- 
tage over  senility.  To  men  who  have  no  resource  in  them- 
selves for  being  happy,  every  age  is  burdensome;  and  were 
those  who  complain  of  the  shortness  of  life  as  bringing  them 
so  soon  to  the  weakness  and  torpidity  of  old  age,  to  live  for 
seven  hundred  years  instead  of  seventy,  they  would  be  none 
the  better  off.  People  past  their  bodily  prime  are  often 
heard  complaining  of  the  decline  and  degeneracy  of  things. 
Since  they  were  young,  they  say,  the  world  has  lost  its  old 
simplicities,  beauty  is , tarnished,  and  novelty  at  an  end. 
What  does  it  amount  to?  Simply,  that  ‘They  who  utter 
these  dismal  ditties  have  not  cared  to  keep  alive  the  sympa- 
thies which  carry  a man  along  with  his  age;  that  they  have 
not  cultivated  a habit  of  genial  observation,  but  have  shut 
themselves  up  in  self  and  sophistication,  under  the  delusion 
that  the  pleasures  of  youth  belong  only  to  the  young  in 
years.  Foolish  and  lamentable  error.  If  men  have  little 
or  no  pleasure  in  their  experience  of  the  changes  which  are 
brought  by  increase  of  years,  it  is  because  they  are  not  good 
and  wise  enough  to  find  and  contemplate  the  past  in  the 
present,  and  thus  induce  a sweet  and  meditative  continuity 
of  earliest  life.”  Dullness  is  not  in  lapse  of  years,  but  in  the 
unskilful  use  of  them;  the  tedium  of  a long  journey  is  not 
in  the  miles,  but  in  the  complainer;  if  time  be  tiresome,  it 
is  because  we  do  not  spin  amusement  out  of  ourselves,  as 
silkworms  spin  their  silk.  With  the  man  who  has  really 
lived,  the  time  is  never  past  for  sublime  pleasures.  Though 
many  he  enjoyed  in  his  youth  may  no  longer  be  accessible, 
by  reason  of  his  failing  muscles,  his  capacity  for  the  attain- 
able is  free  and  buoyant  to  the  last. 

My  heart  leaps  up  when  I behold 
The  rainbow  in  the  skv  I 


256 


THE  INTELLECT  IN  ADVANCED  LIFE. 


So  was  it  when  I was  a boy ; 

So  is  it  now  I am  a man ; 

So  be  it  when  I shall  grow  old, 

Or  let  me  die  I 

157.  While  true  old  age  is  that  honorable  and  happy 
state  of  soul  which  intellectual  and  emotional  activities  in- 
duce, there  is  thus  another  oldness  which  comes  of  those 
activities  being  checked  in  their  very  start,  or  turned  astray 
from  the  course  wherein  alone  are  youth  and  life.  How 
many  are  there  who  have  scarcely  run  a score  of  birth-days, 
yet  are  already  sere  in  spirit!  How  many  are  there,  again, 
who,  though  the  snow  may  have  long  whitened  the  moun- 
tain tops,  are  green  with  all  the  spring  freshness  of  thought 
and  feeling,  and  who  dispel,  by  their  manner,  all  idea  of 
their  being  ‘‘old.”  Time,  necessarily,  nowhere  implies 
youth : Time,  necessarily,  makes  no  one  old.  Those  who  are 
old  at  sixty  or  seventy  are  not  made  old  by  lapse  of  years ; 
they  have  been  old  ever  since  they  were  twenty  or  thirty. 
Doubtless,  here  and  there,  men  are  made  old  by  the  attrition 
of  care  and  distress  on  account  of  others, — and  none  are 
more  to  be  sympathized  with  than  these;  but  in  the  majority 
of  cases,  the  oldness  we  are  speaking  of  comes  of  sloth  or 
weakness,  the  result  probably  of  crushing  injuries  in  early 
years — bad  school  discipline  taking  the  first  place, — or  it 
comes  of  indifference  to  religious  principle,  and  thus  of 
giving  way  to  “envy,  hatred  and  malice;”  since  nothing 
sooner  cankers  and  shrivels  the  spirit  than  uncharitable,  un- 
generous, and  selfish  habits  of  will.  That  which  makes  old, 
in  the  sense  of  loss  of  youth  of  spirit,  is  not  Time,  but  the 
consuming  action  of  evil  passions,  or  neglecting  to  nourish 
the  mind  with  wisdom.  Youth,  under  right  culture,  maybe 
preserved  to  the  very  last.  . Is  it  not  promised  to  the  obe- 
dient, that  “the  child  shall  die  an  hundred  years  old?” 
“Age,”  well  observes  Mr.  Dendy, in  his  nice  little  book.  The 


AGE  A RELATIVE  TERM. 


257 


Pilgrimage  of  Thought,  “is  a mere  relative  term,  and  ought 
not  to  be  employed  quoad  time,  but  quoad  condition.  A 
thousand  disturbing  causes  may  reduce  to  apathy  or  imbe- 
cility the  opening  intellect  of  youth;  and  repose,  or  manage- 
ment, or  habits  of  devotion,  may  render  it  perennial  and 
energetic  to  the  very  close  of  life.’’  How  many  and  splendid 
are  the  examples  of  the  latter!  Mason,  on  his  seventy- 
second  birth-day,  wrote  one  of  the  most  beautiful  sonnets  in 
our  language.  Jussieu  employed  himself,  between  his 
eighty-third  and  eighty-eighth  year,  in  dictating  a new  edi- 
tion of  his  Introduction  to  Botany;  and  this  not  in  his 
mother  tongue,  but  in  choice  Latin.  Goethe  was  four-score 
when  he  completed  the  second  part  of  Faust.  The  late 
Marquis  Wellesley  was  nearly  or  quite  eighty-two  when  he 
produced  those  extraordinary  verses, — 

O Foils  Salutis!  Vita!  Fidesmea! 

158.  Youth,  in  fact,  viewed  as  to  its  essential  qualities,  is 
not  a state  into  which  we  are  born,  and  which  w^e  grow  out 
of,  and  leave  behind,  but  a state  to  which  we  gradually  ad- 
vance. We  are  born  old,  not  young.  We  enter  the  world 
blind,  deaf,  senseless,  emotionless,  passionless,  ignorant;  all 
which  conditions  are  characteristic  of  oldness,  and  are  repre- 
sentatively 'expressed  in  the  bald  head,  the  toothless  gums, 
the  tottering  gait,  and  the  dozen  other  physical  infirmities 
and  negations  which  belong  alike  to  senility  and  infancy. 
By  degrees  only  do  we  become  young,  learning  in  succession 
to  observe,  to  wish,  to  will,  to  think,  to  love,  to  hope.  If 
the  expanding  intellect  and  affections  be  affixed,  under 
kindly  guidance,  to  what  is  truthful  and  good,  youth  spreads 
its  wings,  and  goes  on  growing  in  everlasting  life;  if  they  be 
affixed,  under  vicious  or  repressing  influences,  to  what  is 
base  or  ignoble,  the  beautiful  progression  is  arrested,  and 
the  spirit  relapses  into  its  original,  vacant  old  age.  How  it 
22 


258 


CULTURE  OF  THE  AFFECTIONS. 


is  that  “the  angels  are  for  evei^  growing  younger,”  we  may 
readily  understand  by  noting  the  history  of  the  soul  wliich 
earnestly  and  prayerfully  seeks  and  strives  to  be  angelic; 
for  this  is  a history  of  forsaking  the  evil  and  choosing  the 
good,  bringing  youth  as  its  result,  and  foretelling  on  earth 
the  law  of  heaven. 

159.  Now  to  attain  to  this  happy  state  of  youth,  and  thus 
virtually  to  lengthen  life,  requires  but  that  the  spiritual 
energies  of  our  nature  should  be  allowed  full,  fair  play. 
Giving  them  their  due,  old  age  itself,  called  dark  and  feeble, 
may  yet  be  rendered  lovely.  It  is  not  only  the  “mind”  or 
understanding  that  must  be  cultivated;  the  heart  must  be 
attended  to  no  less  carefully.  Nothing  is  more  importaat  to 
remember  in  reference  to  self-culture,  than  that  intellectual 
pursuits  call  forth  only  half  our  nature.  True,  they  infuse 
a wonderful  duration  into  life  as  exercises  of  the  attention, 
the  memory,  and  the  agreeable  power  of  investigating  the 
relations  of  things.  But  in  order  to  the  full  realization  of 
life,  there  is  needed  also  the  play  of  the  affections.  We 
must  love,  as  well  as  think,  in  order  truly  to  live.  Bad  as 
is  intellectual  sloth,  to  neglect  the  cultivation  of  the  feelings 
is  worse.  There  is  no  idleness  so  ruinous  as  that  of  the 
heart.  By  the  affections,  as  already  said,  is  not  meant  love 
towards  certain  of  our  fellow-creatures  only,  and  preemi- 
nently towards  One;  though  this,  next  to  love  of  the  Father 
of  all,  is  their  most  excellent  activity.  The  affections  are 
the  dispositions  of  the  Will,  love  to  one’s  wife,  and  child, 
and  neighbor,  forming  a part  of  them.  The  dispositions  of 
the  Will  give  quality  and  intensity  to  a man’s  life  in  a much 
higher  degree  than  do  the  perceptions  of  the  understanding. 
“Show  me  what  thou  truly  lovest,”  says  Fichte,  in  that 
beautiful  book.  The  Way  to  the  Blessed  Life,  “show  me 
what  thou  truly  lovest,  show  me  what  thou  seekest  and 
strivest  for  with  thy  whole  heart,  when  thou  hopcst  to  attain 


LIFE  IS  LOVE. 


259 


to  true  enjoyment,  and  thou  hast  hereby  shown  me  thy  life. 
What  thou  lovest,  is  that  thou  livest.  This  very  love  is 
thy  life,  the  root,  the  seat,  the  central  point  of  thy  being.” 
Nothing  is  attainable  unless  we  love  it.  ^‘We  can  sometimes 
love  that  which  we  do  not  understand,  but  it  is  impossible 
clearly  to  understand  what  we  do  not  love.”  Learn  to  love 
well  is  therefore  the  first  and  golden  rule  of  wisdom.  Our 
true  birth-day  is  when  we  begin  consciously  to  love  the  good 
and  comely,  and  our  true  birth-place  the  scene  of  that  love’s 
arising.  Eve,  rather  than  Adam,  was  called  “ Life,” 
though  our  first  father,  considered  physically,  was  equally 
if  not  more  deserving  of  the  name,  because  in  woman  the 
Affections  predominate,  as  in  man  the  intellectual  powers. 
Loss  of  the  power  of  loving  is  loss  of  life.  Directly  we  cease 
to  love  a thing,  it  no  longer  has  any  of  the  beauty  of  life  for 
us,  nor,  though  the  hands  may  still  possess  it,  can  we  any 
longer  call  it  oiir  own.  Affection,  therefore,  alone  makes 
possession  sacred.  No  man  can  avoid  loving,  nor  can  he 
avoid  loving  that  which  God  gave  him  for  his  affections’ 
chief  delight.  Hence  it  was  that  the  monks,  when  they 
made  their  vow  of  celibacy,  and  refused  to  love  woman  in 
her  proper  person,  still  were  unable  to  escape  loving  her  in 
the  ideal,  and  took  her  image  in  the  Virgin,  able  to  dispense 
so  much  the  more  easily  with  the  genuine,  the  more  ardently 
they  attached  themselves  to  the  imaginary.  To  love  the 
Virgin  may  be  pious,  abstractedly,  and  may  bring  many 
pleasant  thoughts;  but  real,  practical  piety,  as  well  as  wis- 
dom, is  to  get  a terrestrial  wife,  and  love  her.  You  have 
the  advantage,  to  say  the  least,  of  her  society.  As  Adolphe 
Karr  sayS,  in  “ A Tour  round  my  Garden,”  talking  of  the 
Hamadryads,  I love  women  under  trees,  not  in  them.”  True 
reason  and  religion  have  an  eye  for  the  earth  as  well  as  for 
heaven.  Like  the  cedar  of  Lebanon,  they  have  their 
branches  turned  to  the  sky,  and  soaring  beautifully,  but 


2G0 


LIFE  IS  LOVE. 


they  have  their  roots  in  the  soil  beneatli.  Hence  then  the 
great  and  impregnable  axiom  that  Life  is  Love.  Commonly 
restricted  to  the  play  of  the  amative  and  philoprogenitive 
feelings,  Love  properly  denotes  the  energy,  in  a happy  and 
beautiful  direction,  of  the  entire  spiritual  nature.  It  is  in 
this  high,  impartial,  unsensual  sense  of  the  word,  of  course, 
that  we  are  to  be  understood  as  using  it.  In  a derivative 
sense,  it  denotes  also  the  riding  desire  of  a man ; that  dispo- 
sition of  the  will  which  is  predominant  with  him,  and  which 
may  or  may  not  be  in  concord  with  the  intellect.  Every 
man  has  such  a desire.  It  is  ever  secretly  present  to  him, 
and,  though  he  may  be  immediately  occupied  with  some- 
thing else,  unconsciously  governs  all  his  actions. 

160.  Every  one  proves  that  life  is  love : — that  we  live 
only  when  in  union  with  what  we  love.  Do  we  not  feel  it 
daily  ? Absence  from  what  we  love  is  not  life,  but  only 
dull,  uninteresting  time.  “ It  is  but  a little  part  of  our  life 
that  we  live,’’  says  an  ancient  poet ; ‘‘  the  whole  space  of  it 
is  not  life,  but  time  only.”*  Many  are  the  sayings  which 
record  how  wide-spread  has  been  this  experience : — Vitd  in 
exilio  vitalis  non  Nee  voluj^tas  sine  vita,  nee  vita  sine 

voluptate.  Life  away  from  that  which  makes  the  enjoyment 
of  life,  the  Greeks  called  lifeless  life.”  When 

others  of  the  ancients  shouted,  “ O King,  live  forever !”  it 
was  but  a metaphorical  way  of  saying,  O King!  so  long 
as  you  live,  may  you  be  prosperous  and  happy !”  Life  and 


* Menander,  in  a fragment  preserved  by  Stobceus,  Sententice,  Tom. 
2,  Tit.  108. 
f Thus  Ilomeo, — 


There  is  no  world  without  Verona\s  walls, 
J>ut  purgatory,  torture,  hell  itself. 

Hence  })anished  is  banish’d  from  the  world. 
And  world’s  exile  is  death. 


LIFE  AND  TIME. 


261 


well-being  are  in  tbeir  briefest  definition,  union  with  the  ob- 
ject of  our  love ; death  and  ill-being  are  the  reverse.  The 
poet  addresses  his  beloved  as  — My  life ! my  soul !”  but 
what  does  he  in  this  beyond  clothing  in  speech  what  all 
men  utter  silently  ? Whatever  be  the  object  of  our  leading 
afiection,  where  the  heart  is,  there  too  is  our  life ; and  as  we 
are  beings  directly  constituted  for  sympathy  and  intimate 
communion  with  one  of  complementary  sex,  life  is  real  to 
us  in  the  degree  that  there  is  least  absolute  separation  from 
the  chosen.  They  only  can  be  truly  said  to  live  who  have 
a faithful  heart  to  receive  and  reciprocate  the  outpouring 
of  their  own.  It  is  because  all  life,  whether  physical,  physi- 
ological or  spiritual,  is  a state  of  marriage,  or  the  union  of 
two  complementary  forces,  acting  and  reacting ; and  because 
all  marriage,  rightfully  so  called,  is  life ; that  the  bitterest 
of  privations  is  prolonged  severance  from  one’s  other  self, 
and  the  sweetest  of  delights,  reunion  and  companionship 
with  her.  The  presence  of  those  we  love  is  a double  life. 
Hence  also  the  enthusiasm  of  the  lover,  emphatically  so 
called,  when  in  the  society  of  his  beloved ; and  his  pining 
loneliness  when  away  from  her ; — her  own  enthusiasm,  her 
own  solitude,  no  less.  “ Five  days,”  says  Clemanthe, — 

“ Five  days. 

Five  melancholy  days  I have  not  seen  him.’’ 

To  the  genuinely  fond  and  faithful,  the  world  has  in  it  two 
places  only — that  where  she  is,  and  that  where  she  is  not 
Yet  has  the  lover  his  gay  as  well  as  his  lonely  hours,  since 
the  love  which  is  his  life  beguiles  the  mind  into  one  long 
unbroken  thought  of  the  beloved,  and  since  into  every 
thought  and  affection  of  human  nature  enter  both  summer 
and  winter.  The  summer  of  his  absence  is  whenever  he 
sees  what  is  beautiful,  whether  in  nature  or  art,  for  the 
Beautiful  is  ever  the  likeness  of  her  he  loves.  He  goes  into 


262 


CONJUGAL  LOVE. 


the  still  country,  and  while  other  men  see  flowers,  and  clear 
streams,  and  golden  and  purple  sunsets,  he  only  sees  the  fea- 
tures of  the  wished-for.  Who  that  has  read  Eloisa  cannot 
but  remember  St.  Preux  in  the  Valais? 

Te  loquor  abscntum  : te  vox  mea  nominat  imam  ! 

Nulla  venit  sine  te  nox  mihi,  nulla  dies ! 

(Ovid.  Tristia,  Lib.  iii.  El.  iii.) 

^^Thee,  beloved  consort,  I talk  to,  far  away;  thee  alone  does  my 
voice  name ; no  night,  no  day,  comes  to  me  unclieered  by  thy  sweet 
vision.’^ 

161.  But  the  brilliant  charms  of  sexal  love,  and  the 
richly  glad  life  which  it  fashions,  are  not  the  lot  of  all. 
That  many  of  both  sexes  should  remain  celibate  all  their 
lives  is  something  more  than  an  accident.  It  is  an  arrange- 
ment of  Providence  for  great  and  benevolent  uses  which  it 
is  not  difficult  to  estimate.  Moreover,  of  no  one  of  youthful 
years  can  it  be  affirmed  that  they  shall  unquestionably  en- 
joy the  life  which  comes  of  sexal  love.  Therefore  is  it  wis- 
dom to  encourage  those  other  loves  which,  though  they  may 
not  cast  upon  our  pilgrimage  an  equal  radiance,  are  solid, 
substantial,  enduring,  independent  of  time  and  place. 
These  are,  first,  the  love  of  the  performance  of  good  uses,  in 
the  lecture-room,  the  Sunday-school,  the  domestic  circle, 
wherever,  in  a word,  there  may  be  opportunity  of  sharing 
with  others  what  Providence  has  blessed  us  with,  each  one 
according  to  his  aptitude  and  ability ; secondly,  the  love  of 
nature.  Cultivating  these  loves,  the  intellect  itself  expands 
and  grows  wealthier.  If  the  love  of  these  things  can  be  en- 
joyed along  with  the  love  that  has  its  root  in  sexal  differ- 
ence, it  is  a joy  untold.  Life,’’  says  Schiller,  writing  to 
his  friend  Kbrner,  life  at  the  side  of  a beloved  wife  is  a 
different  thing  from  what  it  is  to  one  who  is  alone — even  in 
Burnmcr.  Now,  for  the  first  time,  I can  thoroughly  enjoy 


CONJUGAL  LOVE. 


263 


Nature,  and  in  her,  myself  too.”  A wife  should  be  chosen 
for  “ her  own  sweet  sake  alone,”  but  if  the  cLoice  be  true,  we 
secure  at  the  same  moment,  an  enlarged  aptitude  for  all  mi- 
nor loves.  All  minor  loves  indeed,  after  some  mode  or 
other,  enter  into  and  become  a part  of  true,  fond  conjugal 
love,  which  thus  procures  to  its  possessors  a summary  or 
compend  of  all  the  riches  of  the  world.  “With  persons 
whom  we  love,”  says  one  of  the  most  charming  of  authors, 
“ sentiment  fortifies  the  mind  as  well  as  the  heart ; and  they 
who  are  thus  attached,  have  little  need  to  search  for  ideas 
elsewhere.” — ( J.  J.  Eousseau.  Confessions,  Part  ii.,  Book  2.) 


CHAPTER  XV. 


THE  AFFECTIONS  IN  AT  JON  TO  FIFE.  lOVE  OF  NA- 

TVItE, 

162.  First  then,  as  to  good  uses.  No  man  is  happier 
than  he  who  loves  and  fulfills  that  particular  work  for  the 
world  which  falls  to  his  share.  Even  though  the  full  under- 
standing of  his  work,  and  of  its  ultimate  value,  may  not  be 
present  with  him;  if  he  but  love  it, — always  assuming  that 
his  conscience  approves, — it  brings  an  abounding  satisfac- 
tion. Indeed,  we  none  of  us  fully  comprehend  our  office, 
nor  the  issue  we  are  working  for.  To  man  is  entrusted  the 
nature  of  his  actions,  not  the  result  of  them.  This,  God 
keeps  out  of  our  sight.  The  most  trivial  act  doubtless  goes 
to  the  promotion  of  a multitude  of  ends,  distant  it  may  be 
from  us,  but  only  as  the  leaves  of  a tree  are  distant  from 
their  supplying  rootlets.  And  therefore  does  it  behoove  us  to 
be  diligent  in  our  several  spheres.  We  should  work  like  the 
bees,  sedulous  to  collect  all  the  honey  within  our  reach,  but 
leaving  to  Providence  to  order  what  shall  come  of  it.  The 
good  which  our  exertions  effect,  may  rarely  or  never  become 
visible.  In  teaching,  which  is  the  readiest  of  good  uses, 
how  often  does  all  exertion  seem  in  vain.  Our  duty  is  never- 
theless to  go  on,  and  strive  to  do  all  we  can.  “ Every  man,” 
says  Fichte,  in  the  beautiful  book  already  quoted,  every 
man  should  go  on  working,  never  debating  within  himself, 
nor  wavering  in  doii])t,  whctlier  it  may  succeed,  but  labor  as 
if  of  necessity  it  yriust  succeed.”  Between  the  result  of  single 
264 


GOOD  ENDEAVORS  NEVER  WASTED. 


265 


efforts  and  the  end  we  have  in  view,  and  the  magnitude  of 
the  obstacles  to  be  overcome,  there  may  often  appear  a large 
and  painful  disproportion ; but  we  must  not  allow  ourselves 
to  be  discouraged  by  seeming s;  warm,  hearty,  sunny  endea- 
vor will  unfailingly  meet  with  its  reward.  Good  uses  are 
never  without  result.  Once  enacted,  they  become  a part  of 
the  moral  world;  they  give  to  it  new  enrichment  and  beauty, 
and  the  whole  universe  partakes  of  their  influence.  They 
may  not  return* in  the  shape  wherein  played  forth,  but  like- 
lier after  the  manner  of  seeds,  which  never  forget  to  turn  to 
flowers.  ‘‘Philosophers  tell  us  that  since  the  creation  of  the 
world,  not  one  particle  of  matter  has  been  lost.  It  may 
have  passed  into  new  shapes,  it  may  have  combined  with 
other  elements,  it  may  have  floated  away  in  vapor;  but  it 
comes  back  some  time,  in  the  dew-drop  or  the  rain,  helping 
the  leaf  to  grow,  and  the  fruit  to  swell;  through  all  its  wan- 
derings and  transformations  Providence  watches  over  and 
directs  it.  So  is  it  with  every  generous  and  self-denying 
eflbrt.  It  may  escape  our  observation,  and  be  utterly  for- 
gotten; it  may  seem  to  have  been  utterly  in  vain,  but  it  has 
painted  itself  on  the  eternal  world,  and  is  never  effaced.’’ 
Nothing  that  has  the  ideas  and  principles  of  heaven  in  it 
can  die  or  be  fruitless. 

Talk  not  of  wasted  affection ; affection  never  was  wasted ; 

If  it  enrich  not  the  heart  of  another,  its  waters,  returning 

Back  to  their  spring,  like  the  rain,  shall  fill  it  full  of  refreshment; 

That  which  the  fountain  sends  forth,  returns  again  to  the  fountain.* 

Carlyle,  in  that  extraordinary  book.  Sartor  Resartus,  shows 
us  that  it  is  from  our  work  we  gain  most  of  our  self-know- 
ledge,— one  of  the  most  important  desiderata  of  life.  “Our 


* See  a beautiful  theory  of  the  Fine  Arts,  founded  on  these  great 
truths,  in  Mrs.  Child’s  Letters  from  New  York. 

23  M 


266 


LOVE  OF  NATURE. 


works/’  he  says,  ‘‘are  the  mirror  within  which  the  spirit fii-st 
sees  its  natural  lineaments.  ‘Know  thyself’  is  an  impossi- 
ble precept  till  it  be  translated  into  this  partially  possible 
one,  Know  what  thou  canst  work  at.”  Work  is  obedience, 
and  self-knowdedge  is  invaluable,  and  thus  is  proved  over 
again  that  duty  and  interest  are  but  two  names  for  one  fact. 

163.  Secondly,  as  to  the  “love  of  nature.”  This  is  not 
to  be  understood  technically.  People  who  by  its  exercise 
carry  their  youth  along  with  them,  may  not  j)rove  to  be 
botanists  or  geologists.  Quite  as  likely  they  Avill  not  But 
it  wull  rarely  prove  that  they  have  not  accustomed  them- 
selves to  an  earnest  and  constant  friendship  with  that  of 
which  geology,  and  botany,  and  all  sciences,  barely  as  such, 
are  only  the  husks  and  coverings.  They  have  lived  in  that 
which  is  the  spirit  and  life  of  all  love  and  all  knowledge — 
the  Poetic  sentiment.  They  have  lived  in  the  poetry  of 
common  things;  not  necessarily  in  written  poetry,  but  in  the 
love  of  the  omnipresent  ingredients  of  poetry  existing 
throughout  creation,  and  which  are  the  ingredients  likewise 
of  all  science  and  philosophy,  sacred  and  moral  as  well  as 
physical ; whereby,  in  fact,  they  are  true  poets,  though  they 
may  never  have  written  a single  verse.  They  have  learned, 
in  a word,  to  feel  and  to  see; — arts  which,  though  they  may 
seem  native  and  universal,  and  which,  exercised  after  the 
manner  of  quadrupeds,  are  common  enough,  in  reality  are 
rarely  practiced.  Happy  the  man  whose  walk,  in  calm 
April  evenings,  is  arrested  by  the  odor  from  the  opening 
buds  of  the  balsam  poplar.  Happy  again,  who,  when  he 
visits  the  sea-side,  is  quick  to  the 

Crimson  weeds  which  spreading  flow. 

Or  lie  like  pictures  on  the  sand  below ; 

With  all  those  bright  red  pebbles  that  the  sun 

Through  the  small  waves  so  softly  shines  upon. 


POETRY  OF  COMMON  THINGS. 


267 


There  is  no  greater  mistake  than  to  suppose  that  a minute 
knowledge  of  nature  is  requisite  either  to  the  love  or  to  the 
enjoyment  of  it.  Every  man  who  in  his  walks  derives 
pleasure  from  the  common  things  of  creation,  who  looks  to 
the  fields,  the  woods,  the  mountains,  and  the  things  that  are 
therein,  and  reflects  upon  what  he  sees,  has  the  true  spirit 
of  the  naturalist  within  him,  and  so  far  is  a botanist  and 
geologist ; thereby  is  he  proved  also  to  be  of  poetic  tempera- 
ment, for  in  these  objects  is  the  soul  of  poetry  contained ; 
it  is  from  no  other  that  the  poet  draws  his  inspiration,  since 
in  nature  is  the  only  fund  of  great  ideas.  ‘‘  Persons,’’  says 
the  author  of  Kathemerina,  ‘Svho  in  regard  to  science  may 
be  a whole  encyclopsedia  behind  the  rest  of  the  world — who 
do  not  know  where  to  look  for  the  Bear,  or  the  place  of  a 
single  star,  may  yet  have  as  much  pleasure  in  the  sight  of 
nature  as  those  who  know  its  secrets ; the  poetry  of  common 
life  does  not  require  men  to  be  versed  in  philosophy;  Nature 
never  intended  that  all  her  children  should  be  engaged  in 
what  are  pompously  called  ‘ solid  studies.’  ” In  these  com- 
mon things  of  earth  lies  far  more  power  to  delight  us  than 
people  in  general  know  of  All  possess  them  in  some  sort, 
as  all  possess  the  atmosphere ; but  few  appreciate  them  so 
highly  as  they  deserve,  or  extract  the  full  value  from  them. 
How  beautifully  is  their  worth  acknowledged  in  the  Song 
of  the  Three  Children — ‘‘  O all  ye  works  of  the  Lord,  bless 
ye  the  Lord !”  Strange  to  say,  the  educated  classes  seem 
rather  to  dislike  than  to  favor  common  things.  They  seem 
to  prefer  the  maxim  quee  rara,  car  a.  Not  so  the  man  of 
genius.  Him  we  may  almost  recognize  by  his  sympathy 
with  the  familiar  and  unpretending.  The  flnest  understand- 
ings, and  the  noblest  souls,  says  Charron,  are  the  most  uni- 
versal and  free.  Accustomed  to  behold  the  grand  whole  of 
things,  to  such  minds  all  alike  “discourse  sweet  music.” 
Whether  it  be  the  objects  of  nature,  or  the  hearts  of  man- 


268 


CHARM  OF  SIMPLE-MINDEDNESS. 


kind,  the  simple  and  plain  are  as  pleasing  as  the  great  and 
lustrous.  To  him,  in  fact,  who  realizes  the  beauty  and  the 
freshness  of  common  things,  who  looks  with  love  upon 
nature  in  all  its  developments,  not  questioning  within  himself 
whether  any  particular  part  is  more  pleasing  than  another, 
but  attaching  himself  to  the  whole,  as  a great  and  beautiful 
power  capable  of  imparting  purest  joy,  there  is  never  any 
need  to  search  for  pleasure ; 

The  meanest  floweret  of  the  vale, 

The  simplest  note  that  swells  the  gale, 

The  common  sun,  the  air,  the  skies. 

To  him  are  opening  Paradise. 

Hence  too  we  find  such  minds  taking  fullness  of  delight  in 
little  children,  their  pretty  faces,  and  innocent  smiling  ges- 
tures ; glad  also  to  hold  intercourse  with  what  are  called 
‘‘common  people,”  who  so  far  from  being  the  “vulgar 
people”  of  the  world,  include  no  small  portion  of  “ nature’s 
aristocracy.”  The  vulgar  are  not  necessarily  the  ignorant, 
but  the  proud  and  the  selfish,  whatever  their  rank  in  society. 
The  pleasure  such  minds  receive,  they  shed  around.  As 
men  of  genius  have  faith  and  joy  in  simple  minds,  so  these 
latter,  “ timid  before  the  crowd,  mute  before  merely  clever 
people,  feel  quite  at  ease  in  the  presence  of  a man  of  genius. 
There  is  a sympathy  of  simplicity  between  them.”  Beau- 
tiful as  are  the  letters  of  the  highly-cultivated,  none  are  so 
sweet  and  touching  as  those  that  breathe  the  feelings  and 
sentiments  of  the  simple-minded,  especially  of  the  kind- 
hearted,  amiable  woman,  whose  insight  and  education 
qualify  her  to  appreciate  her  husband,  without  ever  aspiring 
to  compete  with  him.  “ Heaven  only  knows  how  many 
simple  letters  from  simple-minded  women,  have  been  kissed, 
cherished,  wei)t  over,  by  men  of  far  loftier  intellect.  So 
will  it  always  be  to  the  end  of  time.  It  is  a lesson  worth 


THE  ESSENCE  OF  POETRY. 


269 


learning  by  those  young  creatures  who  seek  to  allure  by 
their  accomplishments,  or  dazzle  with  their  wit,  that  though 
he  may  admire,  no  man  ever  love8  a woman  for  these  things. 
He  loves  her  for  what  is  essentially  distinct  from,  though  by 
no  means  incompatible  with  them — her  woman’s  nature  and 
her  woman’s  heart,  guileless,  simple,  and  unaffected.  This 
is  why  we  so  often  see  a man  of  higli  intellectual  power 
passing  by  the  De  Staels  and  Corinnes  to  take  into  his 
bosom  some  way-side  flower,  who  has  nothing  on  earth  to 
make  her  worthy  of  him,  except  that  she  is,  what  so  few  of 
your  ‘ female  celebrities’  are — a true  woman.”  In  fine, 
whoever  teaches  us  how  to  enjoy  common  things,  is  our 
greatest  benefactor.  So  to  represent  familiar  objects  as  to 
awaken  the  minds  of  others  to  that,  freshness  of  feeling  con- 
cerning them  which  is  the  great  privilege  of  genius,  is  one 
of  the  divinest  uses  human  nature  can  fulfill. 

164.  It  is  the  very  same  poetic  sentiment  which  shows 
itself  in  the  love  of  good  uses ; also  in  genuine  sexal  love. 
It  is  the  same,  indeed,  which  forms  the  mainspring  of  true 
intellectual  activity.  Wherever  any  spiritual  energy  is  so 
exercised  as  to  realize  to  a man  the  glory  and  blessedness  of 
Life,  it  is  the  Poetic  sentiment  seeking  to  express  itself. 
Therefore  would  it  be  no  misuse  of  terms  to  say  that,  in  its 
genuine  realization,  life  is  Poetry;  that  divine  habitude  of 
soul  which  “lifts  the  veil  from  before  the  hidden  beauty  of 
the  world,  and  makes  familiar  things  be  as  though  they 
were  not  familiar;”  which,  discerning  the  holiness,  the  love- 
liness, the  bright  side  of  all  things,  makes  joy  more  joyful 
and  sorrow  less  sad,  gives  new  comeliness  to  virtue  and  reli- 
gion. and  “makes  the  whole  human  race  grow  more  noble 
in  our  eyes.”  The  very  essence  of  poetry  lies  in  its  power 
to  beautify  and  exalt,  and  what  is  this  but  to  lift  into  a 
higher  realization  of  life? 

23 


270  THE  IMAGINATION  IN  REFERENCE  TO  LIFE. 


We  live  by  admiration,  hope,  and  love; 

And  even  as  these  are  well  and  wisely  fixed. 

In  dignity  of  being  we  ascend. 

Therefore  also  is  perennial  youth  identified  with  the  encoin 
ragement  and  culture,  primarily,  of  the  Imagination,  one  of 
heaven’s  most  gracious  gifts  to  man,  and  therefore  one  of  the 
most  practically  useful.  Concerned  not  only  with  science, 
and  the  penetration  of  the  secrets  of  nature.  Imagination  is 
a first  essential  to  human  happiness.  It  is  by  the  play  of 
the  imagination,  unconsciously  it  may  be,  that  we  are 
strengthened  for  the  common  avocations  of  life,  and  that 
they  are  rendered  not  only  untiresome,  but  agreeable;  it  is 
by  the  play  of  the  imagination,  no  less  unconsciously  it  may 
be,  that  every  emotion  of  pleasure  is  vitalized.  Knowledge 
in  itself,  feeling  in  itself,  is  inanimate.  How  lovely  the 
rose!  Where  is  the  man  who  is  indifferent  to  it?  Yet  the 
rose  does  not  please  simply  because  it  is  red,  nor  because  so 
fragrant,  nor  because  of  its  configuration,  nor  even  from  the 
combination  of  all  these  properties.  It  pleases  because  the 
imagination  connects  it  with  something  human  and  divine, 
probably  the  cheek  of  woman.  Divine,”  we  say,  because 
the  imagination  is  the  faculty  which  preeminently  links  us 
to  heaven,  its  proper  home;  and  because  whatever  is  vitally 
and  essentially  human  is  an  expression  of  something  con- 
tained in  Him  of  whom  man  is  the  image  and  likeness. 
More  nearly  than  we  suppose  is  imagination  connected  with 
morality  and  religion.  So  with  everything  else  that  men 
delight  in.  The  senses  view  one  thing,  the  imagination 
views  another — higher,  lovelier,  immortal.  Whatever  seems 
to  gratify,  by  pleasing  the  senses,  owes  its  charms  to  the 
pencil  of  the  incomparable  artist  within.  An ‘‘unimagina- 
tive man,”  absolutely  so  styled,  or  self-styling,  is  a non- 
existence. Some  individuals  may  be  more  imaginative  than 
others,  l)ut  absolute  unimaginativeness  is  one  of  the  nega* 


EDUCATIONAL  VALUE  OF  NATURAL  HISTORY.  271 


tions  which  degrade  brutes.  Imagination  is  the  very  essence 
of  Hope,  without  which  there  is  no  life.  Holding  fast  when 
all  other  parts  are  threatened  with  destruction,  and  bidding 
defiance  to  the  storms  of  devastation,  Hope,  the  rebuilder 
and  regenerator,  fresh,  every  morning,  like  the  manna  from 
heaven,  represents,  in  the  little  world  of  man,  the  sanatory 
powers  which  maintain  nature  in  its  total.  Spero,  “ I hope,’’ 
is  the  same  word  as  spiro,  ‘H  breathe;”  spes  is  only  another 
name  for  the  “breath  of  life.”*  He  who  has  no  future  in 
prospect,  is  already  dead.  Life  is  one  incessant  wish  to  live 
“in  the  thick  of  all  we  desire,  some  day,  and  meanwhile  we 
do  live  there  as  well  as  hope  and  imagination  can  con- 
trive it.” 

165.  The  love  of  nature,  if  we  would  prove  how  long  and 
beautiful  it  makes  existence,  must  not  be  left  as  a mere 
amusement  that  can  be  taken  to  at  any  time.  Like  the  love 
of  virtue,  it  must  be  commenced  in  youth.  A man  may 
learn  a language  or  a science  when  he  is  grown  up,  but  he 
cannot  then  learn  to  love  nature.  This  love  he  must  bring 
with  him  from  his  boyhood,  when  it  germinates  in  all, 
though  with  most  dried  up  in  its  earliest  leaf.  How  many 
who  have  mildewed  and  rusted  amid  the  mock  pleasures  of 
towns,  would  fain  return,  when  too  late,  to  their  first,  young 
love.  Doubtless  every  man  carries  with  him  some  remnant 
of  his  early  love  for  nature,  but  it  is  not  that  deep,  animating 
love  which,  by  its  freshness  and  fullness,  keeps  the  heart 
green.  Vitally  to  affect  us,  it  must  grow  with  our  growth, 
and  strengthen  with  our  strength.  Hence  the  paramount 


* Our  English  word  “hope’’  conveys  precisely  the  same  idea, 
being  cognate  with  the  word  “gape,”  that  is,  to  open  the  mouth  wide 
in  order  to  breathe  freely.  The  exchange  of  g and  A is  a very  com- 
mon occurrence;  “give”  and  “have,”  for  instance,  are  etymolo- 
gically the  same. 


272 


LEARN  TO  OBSERVE. 


value,  in  the  education  of  youth,  of  Natural  History;  or  at 
least  of  a fostering  of  the  native  taste  in  the  human  heart 
for  the  poetical  contemplation  of  natural  objects  and  pheno- 
mena. ‘‘Let  everything  be  taught  a girl,”  says  one  of  the 
most  sagacious  of  educationists,  “ let  everything  be  taught  a 
girl,”  and  a boy  as  well,  “which  forms  and  exercises  the 
habit  of  attention,  and  the  power  of  judging  things  by  the 
eye.  Consequently,  Botany,  that  inexhaustible,  tranquil, 
ever-interesting  science,  attaching  the  mind  to  nature  with 
bonds  of  flowers.  Then  Astronomy,  not  the  properly  ma- 
thematical, but  the  Lichtenbergian  and  religious,  which  with 
the  expansion  of  the  universe,  expands  the  mind.”*  Espe- 
cially should  these  things  be  taught  to  the  children  of  the 
2^oor,  whose  means  of  indulgence  in  costly  pleasures  are  so 
scanty.  There  is  not  a child  who  does  not  delight  in  wild 
flowers,  and  whose  intelligence  cannot  be  led,  if  kindly  dealt 
with,  to  find  in  Botany  a pleasure  which  of  all  others  re- 
quires least  outlay  of  time  and  money,  and  is  most  easily 
and  permanently  within  reach.  To  suppose  that  the  poor 
are  less  able  to  learn  than  the  rich,  that  they  have  not 
“ minds  ” for  such  things,  and  that  they  are  adapted  only  foi 
operatives  and  domestic  servants,  is  most  thoughtless.  Many 
a servant  girl  has  as  much  taste  and  talent  as  her  mistress 
and  the  young  ladies. 

166.  It  is  the  forming  and  strengthening  this  Jiahit  of  at- 
tention  which  stamps  so  much  efficiency  on  natural  history, 
even  in  its  most  prosaic  pursuit.  When  Solomon  tells  us 
with  all  our  gettings  to  “ get  understanding,”  it  is  but  an- 
other way  of  saying.  Learn  to  observe.  One  of  the  chief 
functions,  therefore,  of  the  instructor  of  youth,  if  unable  to 
communicate  positive  knowledge  of  natural  objects,  should 
be  so  to  consolidate  the  interest  of  the  youthful  mind  in 


J.  P.  Kiel) ter.  Levnna,  or  the  Doctrine  of  Education,  p.  255 


HOW  TO  KEEP  THE  HEART  YOUNG. 


278 


what  of  its  own  free  will  it  is  never  slow  to  observe,  that  the 
country  shall  continue,  what  it  may  be  to  all,  a perennial 
gladness  and  solace,  not  unintelligently,  but  because 
thronged  with  old  friends.  A human  heart  can  never  grow 
old  if  it  bring  with  it  from  its  childhood  a lively  interest  in 
the  re-appearance  of  spring  flowers,  the  habits  of  birds  and 
insects,  the  changing  tints  of  the  October  leaves.  The  natu- 
ralist’s poem  is  the  Pleasures  of  Memory  and  the  Pleasures 
of  Hope  both  in  one.  He  has  always  a to-morrow  to  his 
pleasures,  whereas  with  most  there  is  only  a yesterday  and 
to-day.  Let  the  young  not  neglect  or  despise  these  sweet 
pleasures,  and  they  will  find  that  when  old  they  will  not  de- 
part from  them.  Unhappily,  children’s  love  of  nature  is 
for  the  most  part  not  only  not  encouraged,  but  checked  and 
deadened.  How  else  is  it  that  the  mass  of  mankind — say 
only  of  the  ‘‘educated”  and  well-to-do — how  else  is  it  that 
they  are  so  indifferent  to  the  works  of  creation,  except  in  so 
far  as  they  can  be  made  to  subserve  some  selfish  end?  Who 
is  to  blame?  Not  He  who  gave  them,  for  nothing  is  put  in 
the  presence  of  mankind  that  the  universal  human  intellect 
may  not  appreciate.  Neither  is  it  from  lack  of  opportunity 
or  invitation.  It  is  the  half-system  of  teaching  which,  born 
of  the  ruling  half-system  of  theology,  loves  to  dwell  with  it 
among  the  tombs,  instead  of  coming  out  into  the  light  and 
pure  air  of  genuine  philosophy  and  genuine  Christianity. 
The  poor  lad  of  the  streets,  to  whom  the  very  daisy  and 
buttercup  are  strange  exotics,  whose  holiday  is  with  marbles 
down  in  the  dust,  is  in  vital  education  no  worse  off  than 
many  a little  gentleman  who  gets  his  prizes  for  Latin* 


* No  sort  of  disparagement  of  Latin  is  here  intended.  We  know 
its  value  too  well.  But  how  inordinately  and  ridiculously  the  dead 
languages  have  been  honored,  to  the  almost  total  exclusion  of  other 
branches  of  knowledge,  is  sufficiently  notorious.  See  the  clever  ar- 

M 


274 


CLASSICAL  EDUCATION. 


Drill  a boy  at  mere  book-lessons,  and  the  chances  are  that 
either  he  becomes  a pedant,  or  disgusted  with  learning  and 
books  for  the  whole  of  his  life  after ; whereas  in  using  natu- 
ral history  as  a lever  of  education,  you  secure  numberless 
and  most  happy  opportunities  for  communicating  both 
knowledge  and  the  taste  for  it,  together  with  just  and  amia- 
ble sentiments.  It  is  one  of  the  best  of  mental  disciplines. 
No  mere  pastime  for  the  observation  and  the  memory,  na- 
tural history,  pursued  seriously  and  connectedly,  calls  for 
the  activity  of  every  faculty  of  the  mind.  To  take  a grass 
or  a fern,  and  determine  in  succession  its  family,  genus,  and 
sjDecies,  is  an  educational  exercise  little,  if  at  all  inferior 
to  the  verification  of  a theorem  of  Euclid.  Let  there 
be  a deep,  unsoj)histicated  love  of  nature,  and  it  will  even 
serve  in  the  place  of  much  that  is  commonly  called  educa- 
tion. How  much  grace  and  dignity  does  the  love  of  nature 
give  to  minds  in  other  respects  simple  and  scantily  furnished, 
especially  in  females.  There  may  be  no  learning,  there  may 
be  no  accomplishments,’’  but  if  there  be  a deep,  fond  love 
of  nature,  it  compensates  for  the  w^ant  of  all,  and  we  find  a 
more  lively  and  engaging  companionship  than  in  the  society 
of  the  profoundest  scholar  who  is  void  of  it.  People  should 
cultivate  this  love,  and  bring  up  their  children  in  it,  if  they 
w^ould  but  realize  the  full  beauty  of  the  commonest  objects 
of  household  ornament.  Nobody  knows  how  to  like  shells 
who  has  not  collected  them  on  the  firm  wet  sand  uncovered 
by  the  retiring  waves.  Nobody  knows  how  to  like  flow^ers 
who  has  not  gathered  primroses  beneath  the  tender  foliage 
of  the  spring.  Where,  moreover,  w^e  find  this  love  present, 
we  may  take  it  as  a sign  of  still  better  things,  seeing  that  its 


tide  in  the  Westminster  Keview  for  October,  1853,  on  Classical 
Education,  its  use  and  abuse ; or  better  still,  Mr.  Chapman^s  reprint 
of  it,  with  the  appendix  of  extracts  from  cotemporary  writers 


NATURAL  HISTORY. 


275 


very  province  is  to  refine.  When,  on  entering  a house,  you 
see  a few  choice  flowers  tastefully  arranged,  you  may  expec’t 
a shelf  of  wise  and  good  books  not  far  off.  And  so  with  the 
manifestation  of  the  soul. 

167.  The  love  of  nature  requires  no  peculiar  circum- 
stances. Its  sphere  is  wherever  the  sun  is  shining,  because 
it  addresses  itself  to  what  the  listless  call  weeds  and  stones, 
finding  poetry  and  delight  where  the  dull  cry  all  is  barren. 
It  revels  in  a glorious  landscape,  but  where  the  landscape  is 
not,  it  constructs  one  in  miniature  for  itself.  Nothing  in 
the  world  is  absolutely  uninteresting  to  it,  nor  can  be — what 
is  there  indeed  that,  in  any  relation,  has  lost  its  primal  qua- 
lity of  very  good  What  is  there  that  we  should  not  es- 
teem it  a privilege  to  possess,  although  it  be  “ common  ?” 
Is  it  nothing  to  have  the  frost-flowers  on  the  window-panes  ? 
Is  it  nothing  to  have  the  blue  sky  ? Is  it  nothing  to  have 
the  stars  and  the  rainbow?  Oh,  what  grand  and  awful 
things  surround  us,  if  we  will  but  look  forth  upon  them ! 
But  because  they  are  “ without  money  and  without  price,” 
we  make  nought  of  them;  refusing  to  enjoy,  because  accept- 
ance and  admiration  alone  are  asked.  That  sublime  sense 
of  the  wonderful  which  they  excite  in  us  when  children,  is 
one  of  the  sentiments  we  should  most  anxiously  keep  alive. 
When  we  cease  to  view  with  interest  the  familiar  phenomena 
of  nature,  its  rarest  and  grandest  lose  in  charm.  Why  do 
not  preachers  speak  more  of  these  things  ? If  the  office  of 
religious  teaching  be  to  amend  man’s  heart,  surely  the  study 
of  the  works  of  God,  as  well  as  of  his  word,  deserves  some 
little  notice  and  recommendation.  The  religious  contempla- 
tion of  nature  has  more  efficacy  in  this  way  than  mere  scho- 
lastic theologians  suppose.  ‘‘  The  moral  constitution  of 
man,”  beautifully  observes  Dr.  Moore,  is  so  intimately  in 
keeping  with  the  outward  cosmos,  that  it  is  vain  to  attempt 
to  regulate  our  faculties  and  feelings  without  respect  to  the 


276 


NATURAL  HISTORY  AND  THE  1>ULPIT. 


ordinances  of  God  in  the  material  creation.”*  The  pulpit  is 
not  the  place  for  lectures  on  natural  history,  but  neither  is  it 
a place  for  discarding  or  forgetting  it,  at  least  after  the  man- 
ner of  the  preachers  that  be.  “ In  recommending  the  love 
of  God  to  us,  how  seldom  do  they  refer  to  those  things  in 
which  it  is  most  abundantly  and  immediately  shown ! 
They  insist  much  on  his  giving  of  bread,  raiment,  and 
health  (which  he  gives  to  all  inferior  creatures),  but  they 
require  us  not  to  thank  him  for  that  glory  of  his  works 
which  he  has  permitted  us  alone  to  perceive.  They  tell  us 
often  to  meditate  in  the  closet ; but  tliey  send  us  not,  like 
Isaac,  into  the  fields  at  even.  They  dwell  on  the  duty  of 
self-denial,  but  they  exhibit  not  the  duty  of  delight.”  To 
genuine  theology  nothing  in  the  world  is  without  signifi- 
cance ; nor  is  it  anything  unfit  for  citation  in  its  discourses, 
when  it  would  seek  to  interpret  the  word  of  God,  and  en- 
force its  teachings.  The  test  of  enlightened  preaching  is  its 
ability  to  “ consider  the  lilies,”  and  deduce  from  their  his- 
tory religious  wisdom.  The  great  defect  of  what  is  called 
moral  and  religious  teaching,  as  ordinarily  carried  on  is, 
that  it  continually  tells  us  what  we  are  not  to  do,  whereas 
genuine  wisdom  begins  by  giving  something  to  he  done,  and 
showing  how  to  do  it.  In  its  very  simplest  form,  if  you  would 
keep  a child  out  of  mischief,  set  him  to  some  interesting 
employment.  Don’t  do  that,”  goes  for  nothing  unless  fol- 
lowed by  ‘‘  do  this.”  That  mankind  may  become  more  moral 
and  religious,  let  those  who  are  anxious  for  it,  administer 
less  reproof,  and  give  in  place  of  it,  an  interest  in  life;  show 
how  much  there  is  to  live  for,  and  how  easily  procured. 

168.  The  love  of  nature  should  be  cherished  for  the  sake 
of  the  tranquility  it  induces.  A man  can  be  of  importance 
to  others  only  when  he  is  himself  happy  and  peaceful,  and 


Use  of  tlie  Body  in  relation  to  the  Mind.  P.  163. 


MORAL  INFLUENCE  OF  NATURE. 


277 


nothing  so  much  tends  to  make  him  so  as  the  contemplation 
of  nature.  The  serenity  we  find  in  the  fields  and  the  woods, 
and  by  clear  streams,  we  imbibe  into  our  own  hearts,  and 
thus  derive  from  nature  itself  the  very  condition  of  spirit 
which  is  needful  to  the  enjoyment  of  it.  In  towns  we  may 
find  diversion,  but  we  cannot  find  repose;  calmness,  in 
which  alone  can  the  soul  put  forth  its  leaves  and  blossoms, 
is  for  the  solitudes  of  nature  alone  to  give;  cheerfulness, 
which  arises  only  from  the  peaceful  enlightenment  of  the 
spirit,  finds  in  the  same  its  sincerest  and  warmest  friend. 
‘‘  I wondered,’’  says  Eousseau,  describing  his  first  experience 
of  this,  ‘‘  I wondered  to  find  that  inanimate  beings  should 
over-rule  our  most  violent  passions,  and  despised  the  impo- 
tence of  philosophy  for  having  less  power  over  the  soul  than 
a succession  of  lifeless  objects.”  It  is  not  the  prerogative 
of  a few.  Ask  any  man  who  has  accustomed  himself  to 
commune  with  nature,  and  he  will  testify  that  apart  from 
the  intellectual  culture  attained  by  scientific  acquaintance 
with  its  objects — and  apart  from  the  admiration  of  creative 
skill  and  goodness  which  they  excite — there  is  in  nature  a 
nameless  and  subtle  influence,  analogous  to  the  influence  of 
human  beings,  and  like  that,  acting  upon  us  silently  and 
secretly,  but  most  powerfully.  If  any  would  prove  it  in  his 
own  person,  let  him  go  in  the  refulgent  summer  to  where 
the  warmth  and  breeze  will  wrap  him  round ; where  he  may 
hear  the  singing  of  birds,  and  the  sound  of  leaves  and 
boughs  stirred  by  the  wind,  so  like  the  grand,  perpetual 
song  of  the  sea;  where  he  can  view  without  effort,  the 
smooth,  green  grass,  stretching  far  away,  interrupted  only 
by  masses  of  the  heavy,  sumptuous  foliage  of  the  year’s 
glorious  centre ; water  in  the  distance,  its  ripples  lighted  by 
the  sun ; let  him  go  alone  amid  these  things,  or  even  a small 
part  of  them,  and  live  with  them  for  half  an  hour,  then  say 
seriously,  if  he  can,  that  he  has  not  felt  his  spirit  breathed 
24 


2r8  THE  SPIRITUAL  EVER  NEAR  US. 

on  by  some  unseen  Power,  and  ascend  under  that  breath 
into  a liolier  life.  It  is  good  to  leave  otlicr  people  some- 
times, even  to  leave  our  own  thoughts,  and  to  dwell  amidst 
this  mysterious,  powerful,  moulding  influence,  submitting 
our  whole  being  to  it,  passively.  If  we  take  calmness  idth 
us,  that  calmness  transmutes  into  religion ; if  we  take 
trouble  and  disquietude,  they  melt  away.  ‘‘When  the  vex- 
ations of  the  world  have  broken  in  upon  me,’^  says  Water- 
ton,  “ I go  away  for  an  hour  or  two  amid  the  birds  of  the 
valley,  and  seldom  fail  to  return  with  better  feelings  than 
when  I set  out.^^  Doubtless  it  is  true  that  nature  is 
“ colored  by  the  sjiirit  f that  it  dons  a festive  or  a mourning 
garment  according  as  its  master  does : that  in  nature  of 
itself,  there  is  nothing  either  sad  or  joyful.  But  none  of 
this  is  incompatibly  true.  What  soothes,  ameliorates,  and 
ennobles  us  when  in  the  presence  of  nature,  consists  not  in 
the  objects  we  And  there,  but  in  the  ministrations  from  the 
spiritual  world,  which,  by  going  into  that  sacred  and  peaceful 
presence,  we  provide  with  congenial  opportunity.  For  it  is 
one  of  the  sublimest  laws  of  Divine  Providence  that  spiritual 
gifts  (which  are  influences  on  the  heart),  shall  always  be 
best  conferred  in  the  presence  of  their  material  representa- 
tives. Hence  the  institution  of  the  representative  bread 
and  wine,  of  sacrifices  on  altars,  of  baptism,  and  of  every 
other  genuine  religious  rite  and  ceremonial.  Hence  likewise 
the  taking  of  the  disciples  to  the  sea-shore,  the  mountain, 
and  the  corn-fields.  The  spiritual  is  ever  near  to  us,  but  it 
is  in  the  solitudes  of  nature,  when  we  are  face  to  face  with 
the  unmarred  works  of  God,  that  our  hearts  are  most  acces- 
sible to  his  inspirations.  These  it  is  which  refresh  us ; not 
the  sunshine  and  the  landscape : as  in  reading  the  Bible,  it 
is  not  the  reception  of  the  words  by  the  eye  which  invigor- 
ates, but  that  which  during  our  reading  is  infused  into  the 
soul.  Let  us  not  unduly  exalt  nature.  People  say  God 


TOWN  VERSUS  COUNTRY. 


279 


made  the  country,  and  man  made  the  town,  as  if  the  latter 
were  altogether  evil.  Both  have  their  sanctities,  and  both 
their  mighty  influence  for  good.  How  many  are  the  sweet, 
endeared  and  endearing  Homes,  where  the  affections,  taste, 
elegance,  and  holy  communings  beautifully  intermingle,  and 
sustain  each  other’s  life.  The  true  place  to  live  in  is  a great 
city.  If  vice  be  there,  and  turbulence,  still  it  is  there  only 
that  we  get  society,  stimulus,  libraries. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


THE  INTELLECTUATj  FACULTIES  IN  DELATION  TO  LIFE, 

169.  More  readily  to  apprehend  the  nature  and  use  of 
the  spiritual  faculties,  especially  those  which  belong  to  the 
Intellectual  province  of  the  soul,  we  may  here  briefly  con- 
sider the  fine  correspondence  which  they  hold  with  physical 
Hunger  and  Thirst,  and  the  means  by  which  the  latter  are 
satisfied  and  allayed.  The  hunger  and  thirst  of  the  body 
represent  our  spiritual  desires  and  longings;  the  eating  and 
drinking  which  appease  them  are  counterparts,  respectively, 
of  the  solacing  of  the  affections  with  what  they  love,  and  of 
the  acquisition  of  knowledge  by  the  understanding.  Mutatis 
mutandis,  all  the  governing  principles,  requirements,  and  ac- 
tivities of  the  soul  and  the  body  with  regard  to  nourishment, 
are  the  same.  They  similarly  famish  under  privation  of 
food,  and  improve  upon  generous  diet;  hunger,  which  has 
done  so  much  for  man  as  a physical  affection,  has  scarcely 
done  less  as  a spiritual  one.  Figuratively,  or  in  acknow- 
ledgment of  the  correspondence,  we  speak  of  feeding  our 
hopes,  thirsting  for  knowledge,  listening  with  avidity,  im- 
bibing information.  When  we  acquire  that  information,  we 
‘^digest  it, — we  ‘‘read,  mark,  learn,  and  inwardly  digesV’ 
IIow  beautiful  are  the  allusions  of  the  poets! 


My  heart  is  thirsty  for  that  noble  pledge  I — Julius  Ccesar,  iv.  3. 
Urged  by  a restless  longing,  the  hunger  and  thirst  of  the  spirit. 

Evangeline- 


SPIRITUAL  HUNGER  AND  THIRST. 


281 


In  Ion,  the  pestilence-stricken,  dying  mother  (fearing  to 
communicate  the  infection,)  forbears  to  give  a last  embrace 
to  her  little  child, — 

Stifling  the  mighty  hunger  of  the  heart. 

What  pathos,  again,  in  the  unhappy  Lady  Constance, — 

O Lord,  my  boy,  my  Arthur,  my  fair  son ! 

My  life,  my  joy,  my  food,  my  all  the  world; 

My  widow’s  comfort,  and  my  sorrow’s  care ! 

The  “hunger  of  the  heart”  is  not  merely  the  longing  for 
that  which  is  beloved,  but  far  away,  or  denied  to  it;  it  is 
that  beautiful  fervency  of  the  affections  which  makes  them 
yearn  for  something  to  call  their  own,  something  that  shall 
be  the  secret  joy  and  solace  of  their  life.  Of  its  very  nature, 
the  heart  must  and  will  have  something  to  love  and  be  kind 
to;  it  cannot  live  without;  it  never  was  intended  to;  whence 
if  precluded  from  that  which  it  knows  of  and  longs  for,  but 
cannot  secure,  it  will  half-unconsciously  pet  even  a dog  or  a 
bird.  In  Scripture,  the  native  land  and  home  of  all  true 
poetical  expression,  “eating”  denotes  the  reception  in  our 
souls  of  the  love  of  God;  “drinking”  the  reception  of  his 
wisdom;  these  being  the  Divine  elements  by  which  our 
spiritual  nature  is  invigorated  and  sustained,  and  the  gift  of 
which  was  representatively  expressed  in  the  miracles  of  feed- 
ing the  hungry.  It  is  because  all  things  come  of  the  Divine 
Love  and  Wisdom,  and  because  physical  things  universally 
are  images  of  spiritual  ones,  that  the  bodies  of  all  living 
creatures  require  both  food  and  drink,  and  are  constructed 
of  solids  and  liquids,  and  that  no  vital  function  ever  does 
or  can  take  place  except  through  their  combined  instrument- 
ality. Agreeably,  thirst  is  used  in  the  inspired  volume  to 
express  desire  for  truth ; hunger  to  express  aspiration  after 
love.  “Ho!  every  one  that  thirsteth,  come  ye  to  the  waters, 
24 


282  COIlRESrONDENCE  OF  BREAD  AND  WATER. 


come  and  eat,*  yea,  come,  buy  wine  and  milk  without 
money  and  without  price!”  Of  this  present  life  it  is  said, 
“Blessed  are  they  who  hunger  and  thirst  after  righteous- 
ness;” and  in  the  Apocalypse,  of  the  multitudes  of  heaven, 
that  “they  never  more  hunger  nor  thirst,”  which  means  that 
in  the  Better  Land  is  plenitude  of  wisdom  and  delight. 
Bread,  the  staff  of  life,  is  so  often  spoken  of  in  the  Word 
of  God,  because  the  representative  of  heavenly  good,  or 
Divine  love,  and  because  there  is  not  a single  condition  of 
life  in  which  we  can  dispense  with  that  good,  although  we 
may  not  receive  it  consciously.  A man  who  will  not  eat 
must  needs  die  in  a little  time.  Correspondingly,  the 
spiritual  life  soon  becomes  extinct,  or  reduced  to  its  lowest 
ebb,  if  the  means  which  can  alone  support  it  be  not  used. 
Hence  we  are  instructed  to  pray  without  ceasing,  “ Give  us 
this  day  our  daily  bread.”  Ashur,  says  the  promise,  which 
all  may  realize,  “shall  always  have  bread.”  Elsewhere  Je- 
hovah is  described  as  pouring  out  his  spirit  on  the  earth, 
and  saying, — “I  will  give  water  to  those  which  are  athirst.” 
Water  is  the  emblem  of  truth,  as  bread  is  of  good.  “Who- 
soever drinketh  of  the  water  I shall  give  him,  shall  never 
thirst.”  Perceiving  the  correspondence,  in  the  inmost  of 
our  minds,  we  speak  of  truth,  even  colloquially,  as  flowing 
from  a fountain,  also  as  a sea,  and  an  ocean.  “I  seem  to 
myself,”  said  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  “to  have  been  picking  up  a 
few  shells  upon  the  beach,  while  the  great  ocean  of  truth  lay 
all  undiscovered  before  me.” 

170.  Beligious  or  theological  truths  universally  represent 
themselves  in  secular  things;  as  the  religious  life  needs  the 
divine  “ flesh  and  blood,”  which  “ except  ye  eat,  ye  can  have 
no  life  in  you,”  so  docs  the  life  of  temporal  intelligence  and 


* as  applied  to  drinking,  is  similarly  used  by  Homer, — 

'‘cat  the  fat  sheep  and  excellent  sweet  wine.” — (II.  xii.  319.) 


FOOD  FOR  THE  MIND. 


283 


emotion  need  its  own  appropriate  aliments,  “ the  food  for  the 
mind”  so  often  talked  of,  and  which  true  Benevolence  always 
remembers  to  provide,  by  establishing  the  means  of  Educa- 
tion. To  urge  this  latter  principle  would  be  no  more  than 
to  dilate  upon  one  of  the  oldest  texts  of  common-sense;  but 
it  is  not  superfluous  to  observe  that  were  the  simple  rules  of 
common-sense  which  those  who  have  it  are  so  zealous  in  en- 
forcing upon  the  body,  as  zealously  enforced  upon  man’s 
moral  and  intellectual  nature,  they  would  prove  the  best 
practical  philosophy.  That  ‘‘food  for  the  mind,”  moreover, 
must  be  nutritive  and  wholesome.  “ The  stalwart  and  florid 
components  of  a masculine  life-hood  demand  the  materials 
of  vitalization,  not  those  which  conserve  squalor.  The 
intellect,  as  well  as  the  body,  demands  strong,  regular,  solid, 
aliment.  If  the  human  mind,”  continues  one  of  the  most 
eloquent  preachers  of  modern  times,  “grow  dwarfish  and 
enfeebled,  it  is,  ordinarily,  because  left  to  deal  with  common- 
place facts,  and  never  summoned  to  the  effort  of  taking  the 
span  and  altitude  of  broad  and  lofty  disclosures.  The  under- 
standing will  gradually  bring  itself  down  to  the  dimensions 
of  the  matters  with  which  alone  it  is  familiarized,  till,  hav- 
ing long  been  accustomed  to  contract  its  powers,  it  shall  lose, 
well-nigh,  the  ability  to  expand  them.”  Mental  culture  is 
thus,  essentially,  mental  nourishment  We  cannot  expect  to 
enjoy  strength  of  mind,”  vigor  of  mind,”  “intellectual 
power, or  by  whatever  other  name  the  manly  energy  of  the 
soul  may  be  designated,  unless  we  furnish  it  with  food  such 
as  it  can  turn  into  swift,  red  blood.  Neither  can  we  expect 
to  see  these  things  if  by  training  we  do  not  teach  the  soul 
how  to  be  hungry,  which  is  to  be  done  by  demanding  of  it 
constant,  tasking  exercise.  The  laws  of  the  body  are  those 
of  the  mind.  Exercise  and  excitement  strengthen  and  ener- 
gize,— though  both  may  be  carried  to  an  extreme,  and  then 
be  hurtful  by  exhausting — indolence  and  habits  of  insensi- 


284  CURIOSITY  THE  APPETITE  OF  THE  MIND. 

tiveness  contract,  and  debilitate,  and  at  length  kill.  As  a 
man  may  always  judge  of  liis  physical  state  of  health  by 
the  quality  of  appetite  with  which  he  sits  down  to  his  meals, 
so  may  he  of  his  spiritual  health  by  the  interest  he  feels  in 
wisdom.  Men  who  realize  and  thoroughly  enjoy  their 
animal  life,  do  so  by  virtue  of  their  good  Appetite,  and  by 
the  legitimate  satisfaction  of  it ; they  who  live  the  higher 
life  of  the  intellect,  do  so  by  virtue  of  their  Curiosity,  which 
is  the  appetite  of  the  understanding.  No  man  is  truly 
happy  who  has  not  a large  curiosity  as  to  the  beauties  and 
riches  of  the  world  in  which  we  dwell ; tempered,  neverthe- 
less, with  prudence  as  to  the  time,  and  method,  and  extent 
of  his  gratifications.  Of  all  the  evils  man  is  subject  to, 
assuredly  not  the  least  is  wicuriousness ; perhaps  it  should 
be  classed  among  the  greatest.  Certainly  there  is  no  evil 
more  abounding.  How  many  listen  to  philosophy,  if  they 
can  be  said  to  listen  at  all,  only  with  polite  aversion,  as 
though  the  speaker  were  discoursing  in  an  unknown  tongue ; 
how  many  are  the  minds  whose  appetite  is  altogether  vitiated 
and  depraved,  which  is  tantamount  to  being  lost,  turning 
away  from  all  really  substantial  food  as  if  it  were  so  much 
poison.  It  needs  not  that  a man  be  uneducated  to  be  in- 
curious. It  is  not  so  much  of  Education  commonly  so 
called,  that  curiosity  comes ; but  of  quickening  the  mind 
with  life  to  educate  itself.  The  customary  endeavor  to  instil 
a large  amount  of  mere  dry,  unvitalizing  knowledge  tends 
to  repress  curiosity  rather  than  to  excite  it.  Grammars  and 
lexicons,  whether  of  language  or  of‘  any  other  form  of 
knowledge,  serve  oftener  to  kill  than  to  make  alive.  Les- 
sons, as  such,  or  in  the  sense  of  parrot-knowledge,  are  only 
mind-slaughter.’’  If  it  be  desired  to  promote  a good 
appetite,  whether  of  mind  or  body,  it  is  not  to  be  done  by 
confinement  and  gorging,  wliich  soon  destroy  it  utterly;  the 
body  must  be  taken  into  tlie  j)lay-grounds  of  nature,  and 


TRUE  IDEA  OF  EDUCATION. 


285 


the  mind  be  inspired  through  the  imagination,  upon  which 
curiosity  itself  depends.  A child’s  imagination  can  hardly 
be  too  much  encouraged,  provided  always  that  it  be  guided 
to  some  resting-place,  where  it  can  repose  awhile,  and  in  due 
time,  onwards  again,  but  always  with  an  interval.  To  ex- 
cite a child’s  imagination,  sets  all  its  best  feelings  in  motion ; 
mere  facts  are  as  useless  to  it  as  they  are  dreary;  they  die 
upon  a child’s  heart  like  rotten  leaves.*  Education,  in  the 
popular  acceptation  of  the  word,  might  often  be  dispensed 
with  to  advantage  if  Inspiration  could  be  communicated  in 
place  of  it.  To  that  genial  stimulus  of  the  best  energies  of 
the  soul  into  work  on  their  own  behalf,  which  it  is  the  mark 
and  proud  office  of  a great  nature  unconsciously  to  commu- 
nicate— that  stimulus  of  which  all  who  have  stood  in  the 
presence  of  such  natures,  have  been  rapturously  sensible ; 
and  which  they  look  back  upon  as  the  Aurora  of  their 
spiritual  day — to  that  alone  should  the  sacred  name  of 
Education  be  applied.  It  was  his  power  of  inspiring  that 
gave  such  wonderful  success  to  the  late  truly  eminent  Pro- 
fessor Stuart,  of  Andover.  Many  a man  of  celebrity  has 
been  heard  to  say — I first  learned  to  think  under  the  in- 
spiration of  Mr.  Stuart ; he  first  taught  me  how  to  use  my 
mind ; his  first  words  were  an  epoch  in  my  history.”  Stuart 
proved  more  perhaps  than  any  other  man  has  ever  done, 
that  the  excellence  of  a teacher  does  not  consist  in  lodging 
his  own  ideas  safely  in  the  remembrance  of  his  pupils,  but 
in  arousing  their  individual  powers  to  independent  action, 
in  giving  them  vitality,  hope,  fervor,  courage,  in  dispelling 
their  drowsiness,  and  spurring  them  onward  to  self-improve- 


* vSee  the  excellent  remarks  on  this  subject  in  Harriet  Martineau’s 
Home  Education,  chapter  xxii. ; also  the  article  Civilization’’  in 
Blackwood  for  January,  1855,  p.  26  and  onwards. 


286 


AIM  OF  THE  TRUE  TEACHER. 


ment.*  It  is  to  such  men  and  their  influence  that  Plato 
alludes  so  eloquently;  ‘‘Inspired  by  the  Muses,  they  com- 
municate the  sacred  fire  to  others,  who  again  pass  it  on  to 
other  minds,  and  so  form  whole  circles  of  divine  enthusiasts.” 
Longinus  also,  in  that  beautiful  passage  where  he  speaks  of 
those  who,  though  of  themselves  they  little  feel  the  power 
of  Phoebus,  “ swell  with  the  inspiring  force  of  those  great 
and  exalted  spirits.^f  The  notion  that  we  must  be  taught 
everything  is  false  and  destructive.  It  is  better  to  be  tauglit 
very  little,  provided  that  a noble  curiosity  b.e  excited,  and 
then  the  object  of  education  is  virtually  accomplished.  The 
most  extended  course  of  teaching,  conducted  by  the  best- 
informed  masters,  often  fails  to  take  the  anticipated  effect ; 
it  is  by  that  which  we  acquire  for  ourselves  that  we  are 
really  elevated,  and  it  is  that  alone  which  lifts  us  above 
other  men.  What  the  world  calls  “ great  men”  owe  their 
nobility  mainly  to  their  self-culture.  Great  minds,  more- 
over, it  will  almost  always  be  found,  are  such  as  have  had 
this  invaluable  sentiment  of  curiosity  early  awakened  and 
judiciously  fostered.  The  avowed  principle  of  education 
with  the  mother  and  first  intellectual  guide  of  §ir  William 
Jones  was  to  “ excite  his  curiosity.”  With  curiosity  for  its 
dominant  force,  the  mind  becomes  open  and  prepared  for 
everything;  and  although  on  many  points  it  may  long 
remain  uninformed,  it  is  capable,  at  a moment’s  notice,  of 
receiving  information.  It  is  the  inquiring  boy  who  usually 
becomes  the  philosophic  man,  and  the  philosopher  thus  en- 
gendered who  is  most  likely  to  “ ripen  into  the  priest,”  tho 
highest  (and  seldomest)  development  of  human  nature. 


* See  the  memoir  of  this  eminent  man  in  Kitto’s  Journal  of 
Sacred  Literature  for  January,  1853,  to  wliich  we  are  indebted  for 
the  above. 

f Compare  Coningsby,  Book  3d,  chapter  2d. 


KNOWLEDGE  MUST  BE  ASSIMILATED. 


287 


What  the  Boy  admires, 

The  Youth  endeavors,  and  the  Man  acquires. 

The  incurious  man,  on  the  other  hand,  is  not  thus  receptive, 
and  from  his  very  incuriousness,  never  becomes  great. 

171.  Appetite,  after  all,  must  not  be  mistaken  for  Acqui- 
sition. It  is  not  much  reading  that  builds  up  wisdom  and 
life;  a man  may  injure  himself  and  cancel  his  true  life  by 
careless  or  ill-timed  reading,  as  readily  as  he  may  hurt  his 
body  by  unseasonable  eating  and  unwholesome  foods.  It  is 
through  not  properly  discriminating  between  these  two 
courses  and  their  results,  that  with  many  persons  there  is  a 
kind  of  suspicion  and  distrust  of  the  value  of  learning.  But 
that  culture,  whether  of  body  or  soul,  is  alone  injurious, 
which  has  no  regard  to  time,  and  means,  and  measure. 
“Desultory  reading  is  indeed  very  mischievous,  by  fostering 
habits  of  loose,  discontinuous  thought,  and  by  relaxing  the 
power  of  attention,  which  of  all  our  faculties  needs  most 
care,  and  is  most  improved  by  it.  On  the  other  hand,  a 
well-regulated  course  of  study  will  no  more  weaken  the  mind 
than  hard  exercise  will  weaken  the  body;  nor  will  a strong 
understanding  be  weighed  down  by  its  knowledge,  any  more 
than  an  oak  is  by  its  leaves,  or  than  Samson  was  by  his 
locks.  He  whose  sinews  are  drained  by  his  hair,  must 
already  be  a weakling.”*  What  we  have  to  do,  in  order  to 
be  healthy  and  strong,  is  not  merely  to  eat,  but  to  assimilate 
what  we  eat.  To  read  merely  for  reading’s  sake  is  almost 
as  unprofitable  as  not  reading  at  all.  Setting  out,  in  the 
first  place,  with  a clear  idea  of  what  we  wish  to  learn,  which 
is  eminently  important,  we  must  afterwards,  if  we  would 
realize  what  we  have  read,  reperuse  it  in  thought.  This 
only  makes  it  truly  our  own.  Better  still  is  it  to  write  down 


* Guesses  at  Truth.  1,  212. 


288 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  READING. 


the  central  ideas,  or  seek  to  communicate  them  in  conversa- 
tion. ‘‘All  knowledge,^’  says  Whipple,  “however  imposing 
in  appearance,  is  but  superficial  knowledge,  if  it  be  merely 
the  mind’s  furniture,  and  not  the  mind’s  nutriment.  It 
must  be  transmuted  into  mind,  as  food  into  blood,  in  order 
to  become  wisdom  and  power.  Many  of  the  generals  op- 
posed to  Napoleon  understood  military  science  as  well  as  he 
did,  but  he  beat  them  on  every  occasion  where  victory  de- 
pended on  a wise  movement  made  at  a moment’s  thought, 
because  science  had  been  transfused  into  his  mind,  while  to 
theirs  it  was  only  attached,^^^'  It  does  not  follow,  because 
we  seem  to  ourselves  to  possess  things,  that  we  veritably  pos- 
sess them.  Though  a man  may  have  collected  a thousand 
facts  in  the  ologies  and  the  graphys,  he  may  yet  not  possess 
one  of  them  in  reality;  though  he  cover  himself  with  fea- 
thers, it  needs  something  else  that  he  may  fly;  it  is  of  no  use 
merely  to  see  what  is  true,  unless  by  assimilating  it,  we  prove 
its  efficacy,  and  feel  it  exerting  upon  us  some  salutary  effect. 
Accordingly,  it  is  not  so  much  the  reading  of  books,  and  the 
manual  part  of  science,  and  the  promenade  part  of  visits  to 
the  fields  and  the  sea-side,  from  which  we  are  to  expect  spi- 
ritual aliment;  we  are  nourished  only  as  these  things  are 
iiicorporated  into  our  inmost  thought.  Many,  especially 
young  persons,  make  it  a matter  of  pride  that  they  are 
“great  readers.”  They  literally  devour  books,  yet  what 
good  does  it  do  them?  Life,  real,  enjoyable  life,  is  im- 
mensely dependent  on  intellectual  and  reading  habits,  but 
it  never  comes  of  mere  gormandizing.  “We  read  to  live, 
not  live  to  read.”  Mere  consumers  of  books  not  only  derive 
no  true  nourishment  from  what  they  read,  but  are  total 
strangers  to  the  higher  pleasures  of  literary  taste.  Like  the 


* “On  Intellectual  Health  and  Disease,’’  in  a clever  set  of  Essays 
on  Literature  and  Life.  (American.) 


HOW  TO  READ  WITH  MOST  PROFIT. 


289 


lower  animals,  they  feed  only,  they  do  not  eat  To  eat,  in 
the  true  idea  of  the  act,  requires  a far  more  scientific  use  of 
the  mouth  than  is  the  case  with  mere  feeding.  Epicurism 
is  no  mere  invention  of  low  sensuality;  they  who  practice  it 
do  but  carry  to  an  unworthy  extreme  one  of  the  most  excel- 
lent and  characteristic  powers  of  human  nature.  No  man 
is  wise  who  is  not  an  epicure  within  the  legitimate  limits; 
none  are  more  foolish  and  unkind  to  themselves  than  those 
who  regard  only  quantity  and  speed.  So  with  the  mental 
palate..  If  we  be  not  deliberate  epicures  in  our  reading, 
half  our  advantages  and  privileges  are  thrown  away,  and 
we  are  only  like  quadrupeds  unintelligently  munching  grass. 
Not  that  we  ought  to  pick  out  Apician  morsels.  We  are 
not  to  read  books  merely  with  a view  to  passages  which 
have  reference  to  ourselves,  or  for  the  sake  of  the  more 
splendid  ones,  or  of  such  as  may  support  favorite  theories. 
This  is  to  refuse  the  greater  part  of  their  worth,  often  not  to 
discover  it  at  all,  and  is  the  secret  of  many  books  being 
thrown  aside  as  dull  and  tiresome.  Often  when  a man  says 
he  ‘‘sees  nothing”  in  a given  book,  the  fact  of  the  matter  is 
simply  that  he  does  not  see  himself  in  it,  which,  as  a clever 
writer  remarks,  “if  it  be  not  a comedy  or  a satire,  is  likely 
enough.”  No  book  should  ever  be  read  except  with  two 
distinct  aims,  first,  our  own  improvement;  second,  the  just 
apprehension  of  the  author,  whom  we  have  never  properly 
read,  and  therefore  not  benefited  by,  till  we  have  seen  his 
subject  as  he  saw  it,  whether  right  or  wrong.  To  this  end 
we  must  possess  ourselves  of  all  the  spirit  that  lies  beneath 
the  words,  mastering  that  internal  character,  sense  and  de- 
sign of  the  work,  to  which  our  regard  from  the  first  moment 
should  be  directed.  Hence  too  the  value  as  well  as  pleas- 
antness of  two  persons  reading  together.  Each  perceives 
different  beauties,  and  in  each  is  awakened  a train  of  differ- 
ently-associated ideas,  throwing  light  from  opposite  sides 
25  N 


290 


SELECTION  OF  BOOKS. 


upon  the  arguments  and  illustrations,  so  that  the  author  is 
more  thoroughly  understood,  and  as  a consequence,  more 
truly  enjoyed.  Especially  should  husband  and  wife  asso- 
ciate in  their  reading,  he  profiting  by  her  feminine  or  affec- 
tional  insight,  she  by  his  logical  intelligence. 

172.  Many  read  less  than  they  would  perhaps,  from  the 
seeming  difficulty  in  the  selection  of  books.  How  are  we  to 
judge,  they  say,  what  books  will,  and  what  will  not  repay 
perusal?  To  tell  a good  book  is  not  really  perplexing,  any 
more  than  to  distinguish  a wholesome  food.  A good  book, 
like  a great  nature,  opens  out  a fine  foreground,  wherever 
we  may  open  it,  and  like  the  breath  of  a summer’s  morning, 
invites  us  onward.  It  may  be  known  by  the  number  of 
fragmentary,  aphoristic  sayings  which  may  be  gleaned  from 
it,  full  of  grace  and  pleasing  truth,  as  flowers  on  that  summer 
morning’s  walk.  Bacon  and  Shakspere  have  multitudes  of 
such  sayings.  The  Bible  has  more  than  all  other  books  to- 
gether. Books  that  soon  perish,  die  because  void  of  them. 
They  make  the  difference  between  books  of  ideas,  and  books 
of  mere  words.  The  value  of  a book  consists  not  in  what  it 
will  do  for  our  amusement,  but  in  what  it  will  communicate. 
Whether  dealing  with  fancy  or  with  fact,  all  books  in  their 
kind  are  dictionaries,  and  those  are  the  best  which  yield 
most  material  for  reflection.  It  is  not  fine  writing,  as  many 
suppose,  that  makes  fine  books.  Books  are  fine  only  in  so 
far  as  they  flow  from  sound  and  abundant  knowledge,  a 
picturesque  and  unobtrusive  presentation  of  which  is  their 
infallible  characteristic.  It  is  given,  moreover,  compactly. 
When  an  author  of  any  pretensions  is  found  abridging 
everything,  the  simj)le  fact  of  the  matter  is  that  he  perceives 
everything.  Diffusiveness  is  always  a sign  either  of  poverty 
or  pride;  nothing  of  his,  the  vain  man  thinks,  can  ever  be 
too  much.  Good  books,  again,  may  be  known  by  their 
rarely  containing  anything  unintelligible  to  earnest  reading, 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  GOOD  BOOKS. 


291 


whatever  hardness  may  appear  upon  the  surface.  We  should 
always  he  glad  to  find  a book  invite  us  further  and  deeper 
than  we  have  previously  gone;  for  if  it  do  not,  it  will  only 
leave  us  where  we  were.  Those  writers  who  never  go  further 
into  a subject  than  we  can  readily  accompany  them,  or 
than  is  compatible  with  making  what  they  say  indisputably 
clear  to  man,  woman,  and  child,  may  gratify  us,  indeed; — 
by  awakening  and  enlivening  our  recollections,  they  may 
even  benefit  us ; — but  they  do  nothing  whatever  to  increase 
the  vigor  of  our  intellect,  for  how  can  we  gather  strength 
except  by  exercise?  They  may,  by  virtue  of  popularity  of 
theme,  be  the  lights  of  their  own  age;  but  they  certainly 
will  not  be  the  lights  of  succeeding  ages;  nor  though  they 
may  please  for  the  hour,  can  we  permanently  entertain  a 
high  opinion  of  them,  any  more  than  we  esteem  a river  deep 
when  we  find  that  we  can  readily  see  the  bottom.  On  the 
other  hand,  we  should  never  allow  ourselves  to  be  dismayed 
by  seeming  hardness,  remembering  rather  that  the  author 
has  only  half  the  work  to  do,  the  reader  a duty  on  his  own 
side;  that  to  apply  ourselves  closely,  in  fact,  is  the  way  to 
get  the  mental  strength  we  find  ourselves  deficient  in.  The 
best  writer,  it  has  been  said,  is  he  who  merely  states  his  pre- 
mises, and  leaves  his  readers  to  work  out  the  conclusions  for 
themselves.  Still  may  we  be  sure  that  men  who  are  really 
competent  to  teach,  always  so  teach  that  attention  may  un- 
•derstand.  The  truly  instructive  mind,  when  it  plays  forth 
the  beautiful  abundance  of  its  wisdom,  always  condescends 
to  be  intelligible.  The  lessons  of  true  intelligence  are  like 
the  rays  of  the  morning  sun;  the  light  and  magnitude  are 
revealed,  but  the  splendor  is  reserved,  pleasing  the  more,  by 
dazzling  the  less.  No  author  can  be  expected^  to  do  all. 
“Learn  to  observe’’  is  as  needful  a maxim  in  reading  as  in 
natural  history.  It  was  remarked  by  the  celebrated  Haller, 
that  while  yawning  we  are  deaf;  the  same  act  of  drowsiness 


292 


BOOKS  THAT  SHOULD  BE  AVOIDED. 


that  stretches  open  our  mouths,  shuts  up  our  ears.  It  is 
much  the  same  in  the  exercises  of  the  understanding;  a lazy 
half-attention  is  in  effect  a mental  yawn.  ‘‘Where  a subject 
that  demands  thought,  has  been  thoughtfully  treated,  we 
must  be  willing  to  make  similar  efforts  on  our  own  part,  and 
think  with  the  author,  or  in  vain  will  the  author  have 
thought  for  us.”  Another  excellent  test  of  a good  book  is 
that  the  opinions  of  its  author  do  not  range  with  those  of 
any  recognized  party.  It  will  not  readily  fall  in  with  any 
particular  creed  in  theology  or  school  in  philosophy;  libra- 
rians do  not  know  what  to  do  with  it ; and  sectarians  become 
angry  and  abusive.  Freedom  from  sectarian  bias  by  no 
means  implies  freedom  from  religion.  So  far  from  this, 
every  great  and  good  book,  whatever  may  be  its  subject,  dis- 
closes from  beginning  to  end,  a devout  and  intelligent  sub- 
mission to  revealed  truth.  Books  that  give  no  recognition 
to  religion  are  stones  rather  than  bread.  Here  we  see  our 
way  towards  learning  what  to  avoid, — a difficulty  almost  as 
great  as  that  of  choice.  One  golden  rule  will  almost  include 
the  whole,  namely.  Avoid  all  that  class  of  literature  which 
has  a knowing  tone.  “Every  truly  good  book,  or  piece  of 
book,  is  full  of  admiration  and  awe;  it  may  contain  firm 
assertions  or  stern  satire,  but  it  never  sneers  coldly,  nor  as- 
serts haughtily,  and  it  always  leads  you  to  reverence  and 
love  something  with  your  whole  heart.”  What  constitutes 
an  “improper”  book,  depends  chiefly  on  the  intelligence  and 
purity  of  the  reader.  To  charge  unfitness  upon  a book, 
unless  it  be  in  palpable  antagonism  with  Scripture  and  good 
manners,  is  often  only  to  show  that  the  plane  of  thought  is 
low  and  contracted.  Detractors  and  small  critics  would  do 
well  to  remember  that  many  kinds  of  errors  are  only  possi- 
ble to  great  souls,  and  that  the  very  circumstances  which  in 
their  weak  vision  render  a work  “ unfit,”  may  certify  a most 
royal  nature  and  descent.  The  assistance  in  choice  of  books 


LITERARY  CRITICISM. 


293 


furnished  by  Critics  and  Reviewers,  upon  the  whole  is  un- 
trustworthy. They  may  have  intellect  enough  to  criticize, 
but  the  preeminent  quality  needed  to  their  vocation  is 
Christian  love  to  the  neighbor.  The  primary  office  of  a 
critic  is  not,  as  many  seem  to  think,  to  detect  imperfections. 
That  is  a very  shallow  mind  which  seeks  to  distinguish  itself 
by  facility  in  finding  errors,  trying  to  make  superior  ones 
appear  stupid.  ‘‘The  first  duty  of  the  critic  is  to  create 
happiness  where  it  may  be  done  faithfully,  and  to  shrink 
from  giving  pain  where  it  can  honestly  be  avoided.’’  Stead- 
fastly to  adhere  to  this,  the  highest  principle  of  criticism, 
requires,  however,  too  noble  a nature  to  be  met  with  fre- 
quently. “A  true  critic,”  says  Addison,  “ought  to  dwell 
upon  excellences  rather  than  defects;  to  discover  the  con- 
cealed beauties  of  a writer;  and  communicate  to  the  world 
such  things  as  are  worth  its  observation.”  The  rule  applies 
universally.  Rightly  to  comprehend  and  estimate  things, 
whether  in  Art,  literature  or  nature,  we  must  train  ourselves 
to  admiration  of  Excellence.  The  contrary  course  serves 
only  to  blind  and  darken.  He  who  does  not  strive  to  rise 
above  nature,  will  sink  below  it.  Finally,  let  our  favorite 
subject  of  study  be  what  it  may,  we  should  above  all  things 
take  care  not  to  restrict  our  reading  too  much  to  particular 
themes  or  particular  authors.  “ Preserve  proportion  in  your 
reading,”  says  Dr.  Arnold.  “Keep  your  view  of  men  and 
things  extensive,  and  depend  upon  it,  a mixed  knowledge  is 
not  a superficial  one.  As  far  as  it  goes,  the  views  it  supplies 
are  true;  whereas  he  who  reads  in  one  class  of  writers  only, 
contracts  views  which  are  almost  sure  to  be  perverted,  and 
which  are  not  only  narrow,  but  false.” 

173.  Solicitude  for  food,  or  hunger,  and  the  appeasing  it 
legitimately  and  discreetly,  are  thus  the  inseparable  signs 
and  attestations  of  health  and  vigor  in  the  life  of  the  spirit 
as  well  as  in  that  of  the  body.  Where  there  is  no  desire  for 

25  * 


i!94  SIGNS  OF  A HEALTHY  MENTAL  APPETITE. 


food  there  is  no  true  enjoyment,  and  lie  is  the  happiest  man 
who  feels  how  closely  he  relies  both  upon  physical  food  and 
spiritual  food.  A constant  question  in  our  self-examination 
should  be,  what  is  the  disposition  of  our  minds,  including 
both  the  intellectual  and  the  affectional  faculties,  towards 
nature,  and  towards  literature,  and  prc  'minently,  towards 
the  word  of  God — in  a word,  what  is  our  appetite  for  the 
‘‘  feast  of  reason  No  man  can  ever  say  to  himself 
enough.”  As  the  meals  we  made  in  our  youth  avail  no- 
thing to  the  renewal  of  our  bodies  of  to-day,  so,  if  we  would 
live  spiritually,  we  must  perpetually  feed  the  soul.  Irre- 
spectively of  new  truths,  how  much  of  what  we  acquired  in 
years  gone  by,  imperceptibly  slides  away,  and  needs  to  be 
reclaimed ! The  ideas,  like  the  children  of  our  youth,”  as 
Locke  beautifully  observes,  often  die  before  us,  and  our 
minds  not  seldom  represent  those  tombs  to  which  we  are  ap- 
proaching, where,  though  the  brass  and  marble  remain,  the 
inscriptions  are  effaced,  and  the  imagery  is  mouldered  away. 
The  pictures  in  our  minds  are  drawing  in  fading  eolors,  and 
if  not  sometimes  refreshed,  vanish  and  disappear.”  Hence 
the  importance  of  surrounding  ourselves  with  what  is  beau- 
tiful, as  far  as  lies  in  our  power,  so  as  to  keep  those  ideas  as 
much  as  possible  from  decay.  Hazlitt  has  said  somewhere 
of  the  portrait  of  a beautiful  female,  with  a noble  counte- 
nance, that  it  seems  as  if  an  unhandsome  action  would  be 
impossible  in  its  presence.  Most  men  of  any  refinement 
must  have  felt  the  truth  and  force  of  this  sentiment;  it 
helps  us  to  understand  the  importance  of  having  beautiful 
pictures,  statues,  models,  and  other  works  of  art,  round 
about  us  in  our  daily  sitting-rooms,  so  that  correspondent 
ideas  may  be  continually  excited,  ideas  of  opposite  nature 
repulsed,  and  old  thoughts  kept  alive.  As  famishing  men 
fiicd  upon  what  is  nearest,  so  does  the  hungry  soul  upon 
what  is  close  at  hand,  thus  possibly  upon  evil  things,  if  we 


BOOKS  AND  EXTERNAL  NATURE. 


295 


omit  to  encircle  it  with  good.  Hence,  too,  we  may  see  the 
importance  of  keeping  our  books  within  sights  instead  of  in 
a book-case  upstairs. 

174.  After  the  correspondence  of  physical  feeding  with 
intellectual  feeding,  as  regards  the  general  principle,  it  is 
interesting  to  note  how  close  is  that  which  subsists  between 
the  two  principal  species  of  spiritual  food,  or  books  and  ob- 
jective nature.  As  there  is  a ‘‘  book  of  nature,”  so  in  a 
good  library  are  there  ‘‘waving  woods  and  pastures  ever 
new.”  Books,  regarded  in  their  highest  and  truest  light, 
are  as  much  a part  of  nature  as  gardens.  Gardens  indeed 
they  are.  We  do  not  quit  nature  when  from  walking  in 
the  fields  we  step  into  our  study;  we  only  enter  into  another 
presence  of  nature.  We  must  not  suppose  that  because  in 
dictionaries  nature  is  the  contrary  to  art,  there  is  nature 
only  where  art  has  not  been  superadded.  As  in  winter, 
though  the  forests  be  bare  and  the  birds  mute,  the  delights 
of  the  true  lover  of  the  country  are  nevertheless  not  decidu- 
ous till  the  spring ; so  where  there  is  solid  affection  for  truth 
and  loveliness,  no  place  is  empty  of  nature,  but  simply  filled 
after  another  manner.  The  only  difference  a soul  so  ani- 
mated is  conscious  of,  is  that  while  summer  is  more  pecu- 
liarly the  time  to  feel,  and  winter  to  think,  the  fields  and 
the  library  are  their  happiest  arenas  respectively.  Books 
teach  us  to  understand  nature ; nature,  in  turn,  teaches  us 
how  to  understand  books.  So  animated,  going  into  rural 
paths  is  reading.  When  Goethe’s  exemplar,  Kleist,  was 
asked  why  so  fond  of  lonely  country  walks,  “ I go,”  said  he, 
“ hunting  for  images.”  Similarly,  when  we  tread  our  “duke- 
dom large  enough,”  we  find  in  its  immortal  voices  that  be- 
nign, medicinal  tranquility,  without  which.  Life  is  a thing 
we  hear  of,  but  never  truly  feel.  For,  as  said  before,  we  be- 
come conscious  of  Life  in  the  degree  that  our  minds,  though 
at  work,  are  in  repose — not  unemployed,  but  at  ease  and 


29G 


TIJE  FllIENDSIIIP  OF  BOOKS. 


peaceful.  Work  and  repose  are  not  antagonistic;  they  are 
each  other’s  complement.  The  grandest  workings  of  nature 
are  precisely  those  which  present  to  us,  along  with  move- 
ment, the  sublimest  pictures  of  tranquility,  as  the  roll  of  the 
sea,  the  circling  of  the  constellations  round  the  pole.  Great 
workers,  or  those  who  most  largely  realize  life,  are  always 
at  rest.  They  accomplish  so  much  because  they  have 
learned  the  secret  of  tranquility.  Free  from  those  conten- 
tions of  spirit  which  most  men  allow  to  distract  them  from 
the  true  ends  and  prerogatives  of  life,  the  tranquil  find  the 
time  and  the  opportunity  which  the  mass  of  mankind  so 
loudly  complain  that  they  have  not.  Like  the  calm-flowing 
river,  they  reflect  every  tree  and  cloud,  while  the  brawling 
and  troubled  stream  shows  not  a single  picture.  It  is  the 
tranquil  who  truly  inherit  the  earth.” 

175.  Good  books,  like  nature,  at  once  alleviate  care,  re- 
press the  insurgency  of  evil  passions,  and  encourage  and 
animate  the  amiable.  ‘‘When  I come  into  my  library,” 
said  Heinsius,  “ in  the  very  lap  of  eternity,  amidst  so  many 
divine  souls,  I take  my  seat  with  so  lofty  a spirit  and  such 
sweet  content,  that  I pity  all  those  great  and  rich  who  know 
not  this  happiness.”  “ These  friends  of  mine,”  writes  Pe- 
trarch, “ regard  the  pleasures  of  the  world  as  the  supreme 
good.  They  are  ignorant  of  my  resources.  I have  friends, 
whose  society  is  delightful  to  me ; persons  of  all  countries 
and  all  ages,  distinguished  in  war,  in  council,  and  in  letters. 
Easy  to  live  with,  always  at  my  command,  they  come  at 
my  call,  and  return  when  I desire  them  ; they  are  never  out 
of  Imnior,  and  they  answer  all  my  questions  with  readiness. 
Some  present  before  me,  in  review,  the  events  of  past  ages ; 
otliers  reveal  to  me  the  secrets  of  nature ; these  teach  me 
how  to  live,  and  tliose  how  to  die;  tliese  dispel  my  melan- 
choly  by  their  mirth,  and  amuse  me  by  their  sallies  of  wit, 
and  some  there  are  who  prepare  my  soul  to  suffer  everything, 


FINE  OLD  BOYS. 


297 


to  desire  nothing,  and  to  become  thoroughly  acquainted  with 
itself.  As  a reward  of  such  services,  they  require  only  a 
corner  of  my  little  house,  where  they  may  be  safely  shel- 
tered from  the  depredations  of  their  enemies.”  But  to  enjoy 
such  friends,  which  is  to  enjoy  literature,  we  must,  as  in 
order  to  love  nature  permanently,  begin  early.  He  who 
would  long  remain  a naan,  must  early  begin  to  be  one. 
Whatever  affluence  of  intellect  we  may  enjoy  in  riper  life, 
we  owe  not  so  much  to  the  acquisitions  purely  of  manhood, 
as  to  the  successively  renewed  and  re-invigorated  impressions 
of  boyhood.  Growing  up  with  such  dispositions,  old  age 
itself  lives  in  serene  enthusiasm,  and  like  the  old  man  in 
Chaucer,  who  had  nothing  hoar  about  him  but  his  locks,  is 
adolescent  to  the  last. 

Though  I be  hoar,  I fare  as  doth  a tree 
That  blosmeth  ere  the  fruit  y-woxen  be ; 

The  blosmy  tree  is  neither  drie  ne  ded ; 

I feel  me  nowhere  hoar  but  on  my  hed ; 

Mine  harte  and  all  my  limmes  ben  as  green 
As  laurel  through  the  year  is  for  to  seen. 

To  carry,  as  somewhere  remarked  by  Coleridge,  the  feelings 
of  childhood  into  the  powers  of  manhood,  to  combine  the 
child’s  sense  of  wonder  and  novelty  with  sights  and  experi- 
ences which  every  day  for  perhaps  half  a century  has  ren- 
dered familiar — and  to  which  achievement  wise  mental 
culture  alone  is  needful — is  assuredly,  after  virtue,  the 
greatest  triumph  of  life.  We  often  hear  of  fine  hoys.  The 
finest  of  all  boys  is  the  fine  old  boy,  he  who  has  obeyed  the 
poet’s  great  command,  Keep  true  to  the  dream  of  your 
youth. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  JtELIGIOUS  ELE3IENT  OF  FIFE, 

176.  While  the  axiom  that  ^‘Life  is  Love”  verifies  itself 
in  the  manner  set  forth,  there  is  involved  in  it  another  and 
yet  higher  truth.  Love  is  a word  of  many  different  senses. 
Lowest  is  the  physical : the  middle  one  is  that  wherein  it 
denotes  the  ruling  desire  of  a man,  the  disposition  of  the  will 
which  is  predominant  with  him,  and  which  may  or  may  not 
be  in  concord  with  the  intellect:  highest  is  the  sense  wherein 
it  denotes  the  energy,  in  a happy  and  beautiful  direction,  of 
the  entire  spiritual  nature,  or  the  intellect  and  affections  com- 
bined. (See  page  259.)  This  last  thus  applies  to  and  denotes 
the  religious  state  of  the  soul,  which  is  the  blossoming  of  our 
humanity,  and  of  which  Love  is  the  essential  characteristic. 
The  development  and  marriage  of  the  intellect  and  affections 
is  at  once  the  great  duty  and  the  blessedness  of  our  being, 
and  thus  our  highest  Life.  The  perfection  of  human  nature 
is  when  these  two  are  conjoined,  as  man  and  wife,  in  even 
and  lovely  flow.  As  a happy  marriage  is  the  most  perfect 
and  beautiful  state  of  existence  that  can  be  attained,  as 
regards  the  social  relations  of  mankind;  so  the  most  perfect 
and  beautiful  state  of  the  soul  is  when  the  affections  delight 
in  what  tlie  intellect  says  is  right  and  true;  and  when  the 
intellect  (always  referring  itself  to  the  Word  of  God  as  the 
standard^,  commends  what  the  lieart  inclines  to.  To  be  so 
disposed  towards  each  other,  is  to  live  in  conjugal  amity, 
298 


THE  TEUE  HUMAN  LIFE. 


299 


which  is  pure  and  unchangeable  Love,  and  thus  true  and 
perfect  Life.  Such  a state  of  things  is  not  only  the  perfection 
of  human  nature;  it  is  the  only  one  proper  to  be  designated 
human  nature,  and  only  where  it  is  present  is  man  in  his 
natural  state.  All  lower  conditions  are  unnatursl.  It  is 
important  to  observe  this,  because  people  are  apt  to  call  the 
life  of  savages  the  natural  state  of  man ; a mode  of  speaking, 
unless  merely  intended  to  signify  ignorance  of  the  arts, 
utterly  inconsistent  with  all  reason  and  analogy.  No  one 
would  say  that  a tree  was  in  its  natural  state  when,  through 
adverse  circumstances,  it  was  stunted  and  barren.  Nature 
is  Excellence;  anything  that  is  not  excellent  is  want  of,  or 
departure  from  nature.  The  natural  state  of  the  tree  is 
when  it  is  appareled  in  all  the  luxuriance  of  leaf  and  opu- 
lence of  fruit  which  it  is  capable  of;  and  the  natural  state 
of  man  is  when  the  intellect  and  affections  unite  before  the 
altar  of  the  law  of  God,  which  is  to  engage  in  pure  and 
faithful  love.  If  either  of  these  great  spiritual  powers  un- 
duly predominate,  error,  and  therefore  unhappiness,  neces- 
sarily ensues.  Apart  from  the  tendency  there  may  arise 
towards  moral  wrong,  if  the  heart  hold  too  great  power,  in- 
stead of  religion  there  is  fanaticism ; if  the  head  be  too  mas- 
terful, there  is  rationalism.  Regarded  as  a being  adapted 
for  society,  man,  it  may  be  added,  is  in  a much  more  ‘^natu- 
ral’’ state  when  he  is  living  civilized  in  a town  than  when 
ignorantly  vegetating  in  the  wilderness.  The  nearest  ap- 
proach to  genuine  natural  life  is  in  reality  that  which  we 
mistakenly  call  ‘‘artificiar’  life. 

177.  Religion  is  the  feeling  and  exercise  of  such  love,  and 
the  primary  purpose  of  all  true  religious  culture  is  to  induce, 
or  rather  to  renew  it;  for  the  spiritual  declension  which  was 
the  loss  of  Eden  was  no  other  than  the  estrangement  of  the 
affections  from  their  affianced  partner,  and  until  these  be- 
come reconciled,  the  heavenly  garden  cannot  be  re-entered. 


800 


FAITH  AND  WORKS. 


The  end  of  religious  culture  is  threefold ; namely,  to  recon- 
cile man  to  God,  to  reconcile  him  to  nature,  to  reconcile  him 
to  himself.  The  first  is  the  final  and  crowning  object,  but 
the  last  is  its  indispensable  ground-work.  The  practical 
beginning  must  always  be  made  in  man's  own  bosom,  and 
the  sign  and  certificate  of  the  truthfulness  and  efficacy  of  a 
given  system  of  religious  culture,  is  the  degree  in  which  this 
lovely  harmony  is  reestablished.  There  is  no  religion  which 
can  be  referred  exclusively  to  the  heart,  and  none  which 
comes  solely  from  the  head.  There  is  none  which  is  only 
Faith,  and  none  which  is  only  Works.  However  grand  and 
profound  the  perceptions  of  the  understanding,  if  the  heart 
be  indisposed  to  carry  them  out,  still  there  is  no  religion. 
Neither  is  there  any  if  the  intellect  have  nothing  to  proffer 
to  the  affections,  or  only  what  is  unworthy.  For  in  the  one 
case,  instead  of  love,  there  is  variance;  and  in  the  other, 
though  there  is  a bride,  there  is  no  husband ; or  if  the  ideas 
be  selfish  and  sensual,  a husband  with  whom  true  love  can- 
not grow  up.  Man  cannot  be  virtuous  in  his  heart,  if  he 
do  not  know  in  his  head  what  virtue  is;  we  cannot  love  that 
which  we  are  ignorant  of  This  takes  us  to  another  great 
truth ; namely,  that  as  there  is  no  virtue  unconnected  with 
God,  or  underived  from  him,  or  intelligible  except  by  refer- 
ence to  him,  a right  intellectual  conception  of  God  is  the 
very  foundation  of  true  religion,  and  thence  of  all  genuine 
life.  How  grateful  should  we  be  that  no  conception  is  more 
readily  accessible!  We  have  but  to  think  of  the  examples 
set  by  Him  ‘‘in  whom  dwelleth  all  the  fullness  of  the  Godhead, 
bodily."  Striving  to  imitate  these  examples,  makes  the 
diflerence  between  religion  rightly  so  called,  and  mere  men- 
tal ac(.iuiescence  in  a particular  scheme  of  religious  doctrine. 
Iteligion  is  to  live  a doctrine,  not  simply  to  believe  in  one; 
and  the  best  doctrine  a man  can  live  is  the  life  of  Christ, 
He  who  most  practises  this,  is  the  most  truly  religious.  It 


THEORY  AND  PRACTICE. 


301 


does  not  follow  that  defective  knowledge  of  God,  or  a wrong 
intellectual  conception  of  him,  is  a man’s  destruction.  Men 
are  not  saved  or  lost  by  what  they  think,  but  by  what  they 
do.  The  essence  of  religion  is  a God-fearing  and  devotional 
spirit,  and  no  man  is  rejected  who  acts  faithfully  and  sin- 
cerely up  to  that  which  he  has  been  taught  to  believe  true. 
He  who  can  pray,  honestly  and  silently,  and  feel  his  prayers 
answered,  is  no  stranger  to  the  heavenly  fold,  however  im- 
perfect and  erroneous  may  be  his  ideas.  The  peculiar  cha- 
racteristic of  the  intelligent  religious  man  is,  that  he  is 
continually  aspiring  after  a larger  knowledge  of  his  God.  A 
true  Christian  is  never  satisfied  until  he  knows  his  Maker 
and  Saviour  more  accurately  than  any  object  of  his  senses. 
Unpossessed  of  religious  life,  man  only  half  lives.  No  mat- 
ter what  intelligence,  and  learning,  and  love  of  nature  there 
may  be,  no  matter  what  health  of  body,  what  aptitude  for 
pleasures  of  sense,  what  money  and  opportunity  wherewith 
to  procure  them;  wanting  the  true,  high  life  of  the  soul, 
existence  is  but  sapless  and  inanimate,  and  all  things  no 
more  than  what  the  poet  calls  the  imaginary  wife  of  the 
bachelor,  Ttapay'/Ahajm.,  ‘‘a  cold  armful.”*  With 

it,  science,  literature,  love  of  nature,  as  we  have  seen,  make 
our  experience  long  and  beautiful,  but  there  are  hours  when 
all  are  vanity,  and  wretched  is  he  who  then  has  no  higher 
solace  to  take  refuge  in.  Looking  on  how  much  some  men 
f 08868% — some  in  the  material  world,  some  in  the  intellectual 
— we  are  often  inclined  to  envy  them.  Could  we  look  into 
their  hearts,  and  see  how  little  of  their  property  they  enjoy, 
for  Avant  of  this  life,  when  the  sorrows  of  our  mortal  pil- 
grimage come  thick  and  heavy,  we  should  be  more  disposed 
to  pity  them.  All  wisdom  and  philosophy  resolve  into  this 
(me  simple  principle,  that  the  happiness  of  intelligent  crea- 


26 


* Lycophron.  Cassandra,  113. 


302 


TRUE  IDEA  OF  RELTOIOUS  SECTS. 


tures  depends  upon  the  development  of  their  moral  and 
religious  nature. 

178.  These  two  classes  of  the  religious,  namely,  those  with 
whom  Life  or  Love  is  upj)ermost,  and  those  with  whom 
Belief,  are  the  only  real  sects  or  parties  of  the  religious 
world.  Other  diflerences  are  but  superficial  and  temporal. 
Every  church  and  denomination  has  its  proportion  of  them ; 
every  man  is  eitlier  an  amo  or  a credo,  and  society  suffers  or 
prospers  according  as  the  credos  or  the  amos  hold  most 
power.  In  the  amos  chiefly  originate  measures  of  social 
reform  and  improvement.  From  tlie  credos  come  most  part 
of  the  discouragements  and  obstructions  wliich  they  meet 
with  ; for  the  credos  think  that  tlieir  creed  is  the  incarnation 
and  consolidation  of  all  possible  truth,  and  that  reforms'’ 
are  only  disguised  attacks  upon  it.  Hence  they  are  prone 
also  to  condemn  all  rival  corporations  of  credos,  and  to  work 
diligently  at  procuring  proselytes  to  their  own.  The  amos, 
on  the  other  hand,  as  they  make  religion  to  consist  in  good- 
ness and  love,  care  little  to  quarrel  about  dogmas ; they  try 
rather  to  promote  peace  and  happiness.  They  believe, 
nevertheless,  and  quite  as  reverently  and  firmly  as  the  credos 
do ; the  difference  is  that  the  amos  use  their  belief  as  a 
means,  while  the  credos  stand  still  in  it  as  a finality.  The 
credos,  in  like  manner,  also  love,  but  for  the  most  part  their 
affection  is  all  ‘‘  given  to  heaven,"  wherein  they  find  excuse 
for  loving  nobody  on  earth.  Church  and  chapel  they  visit 
punctually,  but  the  fatherless  and  the  widow  they  care  little 
to  interfere  with : these  come  to  the  province  of  the  amos. 
Hence,  until  we  know  pretty  certainly  whether  a man  is  an 
amo  or  a credo,  in  regard  to  the  sect  he  is  identified  with, 
the  mere  nmne  of  his  sect  supplies  not  the  least  clue  to  his 
religious  (piality.  Unitarians  are  just  as  likely  to  be  amos 
as  High  Churchmen  who  fight  duels,  live  luxuriously  and 
wantonly,  and  heap  up  treasures,  not  for  heaven.  Quite  as 


WORLDLY  PLEASURES  AND  RELIGION. 


303 


likely  to  be  merely  credos  are  those  who  rant  and  stamp, 
and  have  spiritual  hysterics,  proclaiming  their  conversion, 
and  its  day  and  hour,  as  if  that  could  be  efiected  in  a mo- 
ment which  is  coextensive  and  concurrent  with  one’s  whole 
life.  From  the  mere  holding  of  a doctrine,  in  short,  little 
can  be  predicated,  nor  are  the  names  of  the  doctrines  them- 
selves truly  descriptive.  ‘‘  Tell  me  a man’s  creed  and  I 
know  where  to  look  for  him,  but  I have  still  to  inquire  what 
are  his  morals.  Tell  me,  on  the  other  hand,  that  he  is  a 
man  of  justice,  charity,  and  love,  and  I have  no  occasion  to 
ask  whether  he  be  religious.”  The  credo,  as  to  his  mental 
character,  is  well  described  by  Morris.  It  is  possible,”  he 
says,  to  be  delighted  with  a doctrine,  and  yet  have  no  just 
conception  of  its  practical  bearings ; to  revel  in  the  thought 
of  a blessing,  and  yet  not  discern  its  force  as  a moral  mo- 
tive ; to  have  an  intense  admiration  of  the  principles  of 
equity  and  love,  and  yet  be  a stranger  to  both  the  theory 
and  the  practice  of  them  in  the  varied  relations  of  life  and 
the  world.”  (Religion  and  Business,  p.  6.)  The  highest 
idea  of  the  religious  man  is  plainly  that  which  is  sought 
after  by  the  amos.  A true  reverence  of  divine  sanctities 
proves  itself  by  an  equal  reverence  of  human  sanctities. 

179.  Men  often  suppose,  that  to  rise  into  the  religious 
life,  it  is  necessary  that  they  shall  withdraw  from  intercourse 
with  the  world  of  secular  things.  IN^ot  so.  It  is  realized 
better  in  society  than  in  the  hermitage;  and  the  world,  in- 
stead of  being  closed  as  a scene  of  pleasure,  acquires  new 
interest  and  value;  it  manifests  power  even  to  amend  us. 
‘MJse  the  world,”  is  the  doctrine  of  purity.  To  forsake  it, 
is  ungrateful  to  God  and  prejudicial  to  our  best  interests. 
The  truly  religious  man  cannot  see  how  it  is  a proof  of 
piety  to  emasculate  his  natural  instincts.  He  knows  how  to 
be  both  “merry  and  wise,”  and  that  it  is  religious  to  be  so. 
Those  who  make  destruction  of  the  common  affections  of  our 


304 


worldly  pleasures  and  religion. 


nature  the  condition  of  rising  to  God,  confound  use  with 
abuse,  will  with  wilfulness.  The  value  and  importance  of 
the  sensuous  life  are  such  as  it  is  almost  impossible  to  over- 
rate. The  evil  consists  in  staying  in  it,  or  rather  in  neglect- 
ing to  engraft  upon  it  a higher  life.  There  is  nothing  in  the 
spirit  of  religion  hostile  to  cheerful  enjoyment  of  the  world. 
Dissipation  and  unlawful  pleasures  unquestionably  it  pro- 
hibits, and  also  that  unlawful  degree  of  attachment  to  plea- 
sures in  themselves  pure  and  innocent  which  withdraws  the 
attention  from  the  fulfillment  of  duty.  But  it  never  seeks  to 
forbid  pleasure,  or  to  demand  the  renunciation  of  anything 
that  it  is  of  real  advantage  to  us  to  possess,  however  intensely 
secular.  Pleasure  in  every  form,  is  good  in  itself  It  is  the 
sweet  allurement  with  which  God,  the  all-wise,  and  the  all- 
good, surrounds  useful  things  and  needful  acts,  in  order  that 
we  may  seek  and  perform  them.  It  is  not  pleasure  which 
corrupts  men,  but  men  who  corrupt  pleasuiie;  rightly  re- 
garded, it  leads  men,  not  away  from  God  and  religion,  but 
toivards  them ; resembling,  in  this  respect,  the  sun  and  stars, 
which  never  tempted  and  diverted  men  to  that  idolatry  we 
read  of,  but  began  to  be  worshiped  only  when  men  were 
idolaters  already.  In  becoming  religious,  in  fact,  so  far 
from  losing  anything,  we  gain,  and  often  where  least  ex- 
pected. Nature,  art,  science,  poetry,  music,  shape  a very 
different  experience  to  the  religious  and  to  the  non-religious. 
No  man  can  perceive  their  more  excellent  beauties  unless 
he  give  his  heart  to  what  is  beautiful  morally.  As  light  and 
heat  come  together  in  the  sunbeam,  so,  as  a law,  do  elevated 
intellectual  perceptions  connect  themselves  with  virtue  of 
desire  and  deed.  Ubi  charitas,  ibi  claritas,  ‘‘Blessed  are 
tlie  pure  in  heart,  for  they  shall  see  God,’’  is  a promise  ap- 
plying to  this  world  no  less  than  to  the  next;  for  to  “see” 
God,  is  to  be  sensible  of  His  immediate  presence,  and  this 
depends  on  no  outward  change,  no  shifting  in  time  and 


KELIGION  THE  GREAT  ILLUMINATOR. 


305 


place,  but  on  adaptation  of  one’s  heart.  So  with  the  glorious 
promise  of  the  new  heaven  and  the  new  earth.  Whatever 
kind  of  cosmological  fulfillment  it  may  be  intended  to  have, 
and  whatever  deep  spiritual  meanings  may  be  enclosed  in 
it,  it  is  a promise  realized  by  every  man  who  looks  forth 
upon  the  universe  with  the  eyes  and  heart  of  religion. 
When  in  the  65th  chapter  of  Isaiah,  our  Lord  says  in  refer- 
ence to  his  advent  to  those  who  seek  him, — ‘‘I  create  new 
heavens  and  a new  earth,”  he  means,  as  the  event  proves, 
not  that  he  literally  reconstructs  the  world  and  sky,  but 
that  by  filling  the  soul  with  his  divine  love,  it  sees  every- 
thing after  a more  admirable  manner.  If,  therefore,  a man 
would  read  creation  in  its  fullness, — if  he  would  thoroughly 
appreciate  what  nature  and  art  have  to  offer,  his  best  prepa- 
ration is  observance  of  the  precepts  of  faith  to  God  and 
charity  to  the  neighbor.  ‘^To  know  nature,  thou  must  be 
true  to  nature.  To  be  true  to  nature,  thou  must  live  look- 
ing forever  to  the  mighty  Spirit  who  presides.”*  Nature 
has  been  well  said  to  have  an  exhaustless  meaning;  but  it  is 
a meaning  to  be  rightly  seen  and  heard  only  by  him  who 
strives,  ceaselessly  and  prayerfully,  to  become  all  that  the 
Divine  image  and  likeness  is  capable  of  becoming,  which  is, 
in  fact,  to  become  human  and  religious.  Human  nature  is 
like  a microscope;  every  step  in  its  regeneration  is  an  addi- 
tional lens,  enabling  us  to  see  more  beautifully  and  pro- 
foundly. “As  we  become  more  truly  human,”  says  an  ami- 
able writer,  “the  world  becomes  to  us  more  truly  divine. 
Light  from  heaven  must  beam  upon  the  world  within,  be- 
fore the  outward  works  of  God  will  appear  in  the  perfection 
of  beauty.  It  is  only  when  reason  has  acquired  motive  to 
look  beyond  outward  sight,  and  is  enabled  to  dwell  on  a 
brighter  futurity,  that  the  present  world  becomes  fully  sig- 


* Panthea,  or  the  Spirit  of  Nature,  by  Robert  Hunt,  p.  24. 
26 


306 


BEAUTY  OF  VIRTUE. 


nificant.’’*  Religion  is  the  green  mountain-slope  which 
commands  the  incomparable  view.  Blessed  are  they  who 
find  it.  As  the  light  we  admire  on  the  discs  of  the  moon 
and  planets  is  not  their  own,  but  the  sun’s,  so  the  beauty  of 
outward  nature  is  from  heaven  through  humanity.  Form 
can  only  be  duly  estimated  when  w’e  are  capable  of  sympa- 
thizing with  tlie  spirit:  no  man  can  go  further  than  his  own 
measure;  the  small  and  weak  therefore  no  further  than  the 
small  and  weak:  only  from  the  height  of  our  own  nature 
can  we  see  the  height  of  others^  nature,  or  of  the  world’s; 
some  men  see  no  beauty  in  the  Venus.  To  be  a physiogno- 
mist therefore,  in  regard  either  to  the  face  of  nature  or  the 
face  of  man,  needs  first  that  we  be  great-souled ; else  we  can- 
not possibly  compass  the  greatness  of  that  we  contemplate. 
No  bad,  conceited,  or  affected  man  can  ever  be  a physiogno-  ' 
mist;  Nature  and  the  soul  are  things  altogether  beyond  his 
grasp.  The  whole  matter  is  contained  in  the  ancient  canon 
that  every  scripture  is  to  be  interpreted  by  the  same  spirit 
which  sent  it  forth ; — a canon  so  essentially  fundamental  in 
philosophy,  that  every  fresh  acknowledgment  seems  an  un- 
conscious echo  of  those  before.  “In  order,”  says  Plotinus, 

“ to  direct  the  view  aright,  it  behooves  that  the  beholder  shall 
make  himself  congenerous  and  similar  to  the  object  beheld. 
Never  could  the  eye  have  beheld  the  sun,  had  not  its  own  es- 
sence been  soliform  {i.  e.  pre-con  figured  to  light  by  a similarity 
of  essence  with  that  of  light) ; neither  can  a soul  not  beauti- 
ful attain  to  an  understanding  of  beauty;”f  What  but  an 
expansion  of  this,  is  that  delicious  little  book,  The  Ministry 
of  the  Beautiful “The  thickest  night  cannot  veil  the 

* The  use  of  the  Body  in  relation  to  the  Mind,  by  Dr.  MooTre, 

p.  102. 

f Enncad  1,  Book  0,  “Of  the  Beautiful.”  (Page  57,  F G.  Ed. 
Ficini.) 

t By  n.  J.  Slack.  1852. 


A PUKE  HEART  THE  HISCEKNER  OF  BEAUTY.  307 

beauty  and  mystery  of  nature  one-tenth  part  so  efiectually 
as  a low  moral  state.  Divinest  forms  in  vain  present  them- 
selves to  eyes  whose  mechanism  communicates  wuth  no  re- 
cipient soul.  Beauty  without  is  the  reflection  of  love  and 
obedience  within.  To  the  true  worshiper  nature  exhibits 
beauty  and  sublimity,  where  to  the  irreverent  is  barrenness 
and  vacuity.  Two  men  may  live  on  the  same  spot,  one 
dwelling  in  an  Eden  garden,  sparkling  with  fountains, 
odorous  with  the  loveliest  flowers,  full  of  celestial  sounds, 
while  the  other  is  in  a desert,  the  abode  of  uncleanness  and 
desolation.  In  proportion  as  a man  developes  beauty  within, 
does  he  find  it  without.’’  Emerson  follows  in  words  of 
gold: — ‘‘The  problem,”  says  he,  “of  restoring  to  the  world 
original  and  eternal  beauty,  is  solved  by  the  redemption  of 
the  soul.  The  ruin  or  the  blank  that  we  see  in  nature  is  in 
our  own  eye.  The  axis  of  vision  is  not  coincident  with  the 
axis  of  things,  and  so  they  appear  not  transparent,  but 
opaque.  The  reason  why  the  world  lacks  unity  is,  that  man 
is  disunited  from  himself.  A life  in  harmony  with  nature,  the 
love  of  truth  and  virtue,  will  purge  the  eyes  to  understand 
her  text,  so  that  the  world  shall  be  to  us  an  open  book,  and 
every  form  significant  of  its  hidden  life  and  final  cause.” 
Thus  eloquently  and  variedly  is  it  testified  that  in  the  degree 
that  we  become  sensible  of  the  charms  of  virtue,  our  hearts 
open  to  the  true  seeing  of  those  that  are  physical ; in  other 
words,  that  a man’s  opinion  of  the  world  is  always  in  pro- 
portion to  his  own  comeliness.  All  who  do  see  the  world 
from  such  a stand-point  are  Poets.  To  become  virtuous 
is  to  open  the  eyes  to  poetic  sights ; and  conversely,  before  a 
man  can  be  a poet,  or  at  all  events,  a true  and  great  poet, 
ne  must  have  a loving  and  religious  heart.*  An  immoral 


Almost  a truism,  from  the  variety  of  authors  in  wliich  tliis 
idea  may  be  found  expressed ; its  earliest  occurrence  appears  to  be  in 


308 


RELIGIOUS  LIFE  AND  SECULAR  LIFE. 


genius  is  no  genius,  simply  a man  of  talent.  Such  an  one 
was  Lord  Byron.  Shakspere,  on  the  other  hand,  was  of 
the  highest  moral  purity,  therefore  capable  of  all  the  func- 
tions and  rewards  of  poetry  in  the  completcst  signification 
of  the  word.  ‘‘The  profundity  and  simplicity  of  his  poeti- 
cal view  of  life,”  as  Ulrici  finely  remarks,  “was  simply  on 
this  account  sublime  and  profound,  because  it  was  Christian, 
and  Christian  also,  even  because  it  was  sublime  and  j)ro- 
found.”*  Not  that  Poetry  and  Religion  are  in  any  way 
synonymous  or  convertible.  Delighting  “to  sit  under  the 
boughs  of  poetry,  and  to  be  washed  by  the  surging  waves 
of  music,”  religion  still  carefully  distinguishes  itself  from 
them.  The  one  implies  faith  in  a Saviour,  the  other  simply 
love  for  a Creator. 

180.  To  realize  these  things,  it  is  not  necessary  that  a man 
should  be  always  thinking  about  what  is  spiritual  and  reli- 
gious, any  more  than  that  he  should  quit  the  world  of  sen- 
suous enjoyment.  Doing  so,  he  could  not  properly  address 
himself  to  the  details  of  his  secular  duties ; but  he  should 
always  have  his  mind  governed  by  what  is  religious.  Reli- 
gion does  not  consist  in  forever  busying  one’s  self  with  reli- 
gious ideas,  in  season  and  out  of  season ; but  in  letting  our 
knowledge  of  what  is  right,  color  and  ensoul  whatever  we 
do.  Unhappily,  in  many  minds,  it  has  been  made  to  con- 
sist too  much  in  the  performance  of  certain  ceremonies, 
acknowledging  God  at  stated  hours,  speaking  on  given  sub- 
jects in  a certain  way;  to  be,  in  a word,  not  what  in  its 

Strabo,  about  the  middle  of  his  first  book.  (P.  17,  Ed.  Cassaubon, 
1G20.) 

* Shakspere’s  Dramatic  Art,  and  his  relation  to  Calderon  and 
Goethe,  j).  x.  See  also  p.  118.  Tliose  foolish  people  who  are  better 
able  to  see  ignorance  and  iriij)icty  in  Shakspere,  than  wisdom  and 
virtue,  are  i)rovided  in  the  pages  which  follow,  with  the  completest 
explanations  to  be  desired. 


LIFE  IN  ITS  BEST  SENSE. 


309 


purity  it  really  is — a temper,  but  a pursuit  The  consequence 
is  that  to  a great  extent  it  is  shut  up  in  the  church  at  the 
close  of  service,  and  left  there  till  Sunday  comes  round 
again.  The  weeh-d^y^  are  the  true  periods  for  religious 
action,  which,  rightly  understood,  is  doing  as  we  would  be 
done  by,  and  performing  acts  of  Christian  usefulness  ; while 
Sunday,  in  the  proper  idea  of  it,  is  a day  for  receiving  and 
communicating  specific  instruction  in  sacred  things,  and 
joining  with  our  brethren  in  the  externals  of  ritual  worship. 
If  it  be  possible  to  carry  pride,  selfishness,  avarice,  cheerful- 
ness, diligence,  into  the  execution  of  our  daily  work,  it  is 
quite  as  competent  to  us  to  carry  into  it  a religious  spirit, 
without  which,  in  fact,  religious  action  is  merely  show\  Two 
things  are  greatly  to  be  distrusted  in  regard  to  religion — an 
inactive  profession,  and  rigor  and  multitude  of  ceremonials, 
which  latter,  with  the  truly  religious,  are  nevertheless  ob- 
served, and  even  more  sedulously,  only  with  this  distinction, 
that  they  are  without  advertisement  to  the  world.  “ True 
religion,’’  as  Charles  Lamb  tells  us,  prescribes  a kind  of 
grace,  not  only  before  meals,  but  before  setting  out  for  a 
pleasant  walk,  for  a moonlight  ramble,  for  a pleasant  meet- 
ing ; a grace  before  reading  any  author  that  delights  us.”* 
181.  Being  the  highest  kind  of  life,  the  Religious  is  that 
to  which  Scripture  chiefly  alludes.  Jesus,  in  particular, 
rarely  speaks  of  man’s  animal,  organic  life;  he  concerns 
himself  with  what  vitalizes  the  soul,  and  introduces  it  to 
immortality  in  heaven.  When  life  in  the  sense  of  the 
future  state  is  referred  to  in  the  Bible,  it  always  implies 
antecedent  religious  life  on  earth  ; necessarily  so,  because  no 
man  can  live  in  heaven  who  has  not  first  lived  religiously 
here.  Religion  is  a marriage  in  the  soul,  and  in  heaven 
there  is  neither  marrying  nor  giving  in  marriage.  It  mu^ 


* Elia,  Grace  before  Meat.’ 


310  SCRIPTURAL  MEANINGS  OF  THE  WORD  ‘‘LIFE.” 


be  consummated  in  this  life,  if  at  all.  No  one  who  is  ac- 
customed to  peruse  the  Word  of  God  attentively  is  a 
stranger  to  these  things.  For  completeness^  sake  some  few 
illustrations  may  nevertheless  be  adduced,  i.  e.,  of  the  word 
“life,”  as  used  in  its  sense  of  the  religious.  “ He  that  hath  the 
Son,  hath  life;  and  he  that  hath  not  the  Son,  hath  not  life.” 
“Keep  my  commandments  and  live^  “He  that  followeth 
after  righteousness  and  mercy  findeth  “ To  be  car- 

nally-minded is  death,  but  to  be  spiritually-minded  is  //Je.” 
“ In  the  pathway  of  righteousnesss  is  life;  in  the  pathway 
thereof  there  is  no  death.”  The  same  is  meant  in  all  such 
expressions  as  “ enter  into  lifef  “ light  of  Ufef  “ word  of 
lifef^  “ bread  of  life ;”  where  it  is  plain  that  something  is 
intended  far  higher,  far  more  transcendental,  than  can  be 
identified  or  connected  with  mere  animal,  temporal  vitality. 
Every  such  passage  must  of  course  be  interpreted  on  its  own 
basis  and  by  its  own  context ; to  read  them  aright,  however, 
we  should  act  on  the  admirable  maxim  of  Bishop  Heber, 
that  the  best  means  of  understanding  any  single  passage  of 
Scripture  is  to  acquire  an  intimate  and  long  acquaintance 
with  the  whole  of  the  sacred  volume.  It  is  instructive  to 
observe  that  the  terms  used  to  denote  life  in  the  original 
languages  of  the  Bible,  announce  on  the  very  face  of  the 
matter,  that  different  ideas  of  it  are  intended.  Thus,  in  the 
New  Testament,  while  the  animal,  temporal  life  is  called 
the  religious  life,  both  as  enjoyed  here  and  as  con- 
tinued hereafter,  is  distinguished,  almost  uniformly  as  Ccorj. 
Those  who  are  interested  in  the  Scriptural  usages  of  the 
word  life,  will  do  well  to  consult  a fine  old  volume,  curiously 
and  immensely  learned,  by  Kichard  Brocklesby — “An  Ex- 
plication of  the  Gospel  Theism,  and  the  Divinity  of  the 
Christian  Religion,”  Book  iv.  chap.  10,  sect.  12,  pp.  975 — • 
993.  (1706.) 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

JjlFB  MEAZIZEJ)  BT  ACTIVITY— ACTION  TELE  LAW  OF 
IIAFFINESS. 

182.  As  the  operations  and  phenomena  of  physical  life 
resolve  universally  into  Motion,  so  do  those  of  the  spiritual 
life  into  Activity.  The  reason  is  that  the  soul,  like  the 
body,  and  nature  universally,  is  a subject  of  continual 
change,  and  depends  upon  its  changes  for  all  its  energy  and 
pleasures.  Like  the  body  again,  it  acts  both  secretly  within 
itself,  and  externally,  upon  what  environs  it.  The  exter- 
nalized activities  are  fulfillments  of  the  inner,  and  are  possi- 
ble only  as  effects  of  them ; the  secret  or  interior  ones  form 
that  sleepless  life  of  desire,  memory,  and  imagination,  which 
gives  so  beautiful  an  assurance  that  we  are  immortal. 
Whatever  we  may  seem  to  ourselves  to  be,  we  are  never  in 
reality  unoccupied ; the  thinking  powers  and  the  affections 
may  appear  to  be  at  rest,  we  may  be  quite  unconscious  that 
they  are  otherwise,  but  they  never  cease  from  action  alto- 
gether ; the  spiritual  heart,  like  the  physical,  is  in  ceaseless 
throb.  That  which  we  commonly  call  activity  is  thus  only 
pictorial,  and  but  a part  of  what  we  effect ; the  essential 
transpires  beneath,  in  the  silent  chambers  of  the  soul,  and 
so  restlessly  that  no  exertion  of  body  can  ever  set  forth  the 
half  of  it.  To  think  is  virtually  to  act ; so  are  to  love,  to 
hope,  to  muse.  Men  are  not  to  be  considered  idle  because 
we  do  not  see  them  incessantly  working  with  their  hands. 
That  idleness  exists  there  is  no  doubt,  and  that  not  a little 

311 


312 


REVERIE. 


of  it  is  utterly  shameful ; but  we  should  be  cautious  how  we 
charge  idleness  upon  any  man  too  hastily,  for  it  often  hap- 
pens that  the  idlest  to  appearance  are  precisely  those  who 
work  the  hardest.  Before  a man  is  set  down  as  idle,  it 
should  be  asked  what  is  his  aptitude  for  seeing ; for  never 
since  the  world  began,  did  an  indolent  heart  and  mind  dwell 
in  the  same  body  with  open  eyes.  The  truly  idle  man  is 
the  selfish  and  unintellectual  one,  “spinning  on  his  own 
axis  in  the  dark.’’  Still,  it  is  by  the  vigor  and  effectiveness 
with  which  this  essential  activity  of  the  soul  is  played  forth 
into  the  world  around  that  it  is  to  be  estimated  ; and  unless 
we  see  signs  and  tokens  of  it  in  the  shape  of  deeds,  we  are 
justified  in  slowness  of  acknowledgment.  In  fact,  it  be- 
comes real  only  by  impersonation  into  deed,  for  until 
thought  and  affection  utter  themselves  on  society,  they  are 
only  inutile  visions.  As  a man’s  health  and  strength  are 
not  determined  by  the  bare  circumstance  of  our  knowledge 
that  his  blood  is  circulating,  but  by  the  energy  with  which 
we  see  him  use  his  limbs  and  organs  generally ; so  the  life 
of  the  soul  is  to  be  judged  of,  not  by  its  invisible  dreamings, 
but  by  its  outward,  sensible  manifestations.  Reverie, 
though  most  wholesome  services  are  sometimes  wrought  by 
it,  is  but  the  pliyllomania  or  running  to  leaf  of  the  soul ; the 
exclusively  right  purpose  of  spiritual  life  is  the  blossom  and 
fruit  of  external  act.  “By  their  fruits  shall  ye  know  them.” 
We  tell  what  a man  ^s,  or  as  it  is  well-phrased,  what  he  is 
“ made  of,”  by  what  he  does;  not,  however,  by  what  he  does 
once,  or  occasionally,  fine  as  the  deed  may  be,  but  by  what 
he  continues  to  do,  and  persists  in  doing,  spite  of  all  hin- 
drances. Cleverness,  parts,  talent,  so  called,  can  be  taken 
no  account  of  till  they  come  out.  A man  of  mere  “ capa- 
city undeveloped,”  as  Emerson  says,  “is  only  an  “organized 
day-dream  with  a skin  on  it.”  Genius  itself  is  no  genius  if 
it  stay  in-doors.  “ Genius  unexerted  is  no  more  genius  than 


ACTION  AND  ENJOYMENT. 


313 


a bushel  of  acorns  in  a forest  of  oaks.  There  may  be  epics 
in  men’s  brains,  just  as  there  are  oaks  in  acorns,  but  the 
tree  and  the  book  must  come  out  before  we  can  measure 
them.”  A thing  of  names  and  definitions  innumerable,  Ge- 
nius, whatever  its  particular  attitude  or  features,  is  the  high- 
est development  of  the  energy  of  the  soul ; its  certificate  and 
office,  as  with  the  great  function  of  the  body  which  corre- 
sponds to  it,  or  the  procreation  of  offspring,  which  is  the 
highest  development  of  physical  energy,  is  that  it  again  im- 
parts life;  but  until  life  has  sprung  up  under  its  mighty 
impulse,  till  we  feel  the  world  the  richer  for  it,  to  call  it  ge- 
nius is  ridiculous  and  false.  Genius  is  known  by  its  acti- 
vity; dumb  and  unprolific  genius  are  but  appellations  of  the 
want  of  it.  Let  none,  then,  stand  still  in  the  supposition 
that  because  the  soul  works,  and  works  diligently,  of  its  own 
accord,  a lofty  spiritual  life  will  necessarily  be  present ; no- 
thing is  vital  and  substantial  till  it  be  ultimated  into  body 
or  performance.  So  completely  is  action  identified  with  life, 
that  it  is  the  natural  metaphor  for  its  lapse  and  progress. 
Agere,  to  act,  is  used  by  Tacitus  for  to  live and  to  say 
that  a person  has  lived  thirty  years,  is  the  same  as  saying 
that  he  has  acted  thirty  years. 

183.  That  which  is  the  truest  sign  of  a thing  is  always  its 
chief  ornament  and  blessedness.  Life,  accordingly,  is  a 
delight  just  in  the  degree  that  it  is  consecrated  to  Action, 
or  the  conscious,  volitional  exercise  of  our  noblest  capabili- 
ties. Action  and  enjoyment  are  contingent  upon  each  other; 
when  we  are  unfit  for  work  we  are  always  incapable  of 
pleasure ; work  is  the  wooing  by  which  happiness  is  won. 
The  exercise  even  of  our  most  ordinary  bodily  functions  is 
a source  of  pleasure — breathing,  for  example.  If  not 
directly  recognized  as  such,  it  is  simply  because  of  its  unin- 
terruptedness, beautifully  illustrating  that  in  order  to  the 
<'.omplete  sense  of  happiness  in  the  soul,  there  must  be  corv- 
27  0 


314 


ACTION  AND  ENJOYMENT. 


sciousness  of  being  employed.  All  physical  pleasures  depend 
for  the  maximum  of  their  delightfulness,  on  continual  cessa- 
tion and  recurrence,  often  on  slight  movements  and  undu- 
lations, just  sufficient  to  give  keener  edge  to  their  renewal  in 
the  next  instant ; similarly,  but  in  a far  higher  degree,  all 
our  spiritual,  or  mental  and  emotional  pleasures,  come  of 
constant  action,  unceasingly  recapitulated.  So  inseparably 
connected  are  the  ideas  of  action  and  enjoyment,  that  when- 
ever in  nature  we  behold  free  movement,  it  awakens  agree- 
able emotions;  when,  for  example,  in  the  calm  air  of  a 
summer’s  evening  we  watch  the  insects  weaving  their  mazy 
dances,  we  exclaim  instinctively,  how  happy  they  are ! In 
many  languages,  happiness  and  fruitfulness,  both  of  them 
results  and  indications  of  activity,  are  denoted  by  the  same 
word,  as  when  the  Latin  poet  calls  the  apple  tree  felix,  the 
unproductive  wild  olive  infelix  oleaster.  The  proximate 
cause  of  this  great  interdependence  is  that  man  is  a creature 
of  unbounded  Wants.  It  is  Want  that  spurs  us  on  to 
activity,  in  order  that  we  may  satisfy  the  want;  were  it 
possible  for  us  to  appease  all  wants  as  fast  as  they  arise,  we 
should  be  the  most  miserable  and  forlorn  of  beings.  This 
is  why  we  find  such  keener  pleasure  in  the  chase  of  an 
object  than  in  the  capture  of  it;  why  possession  satisfies 
only  in  the  degree  that  it  is  a new"  beginning.  It  is  not., 
says  Helvetius,  in  the  having  acquired  a fortune,  but  in  the 
acquiring  it ; not  in  having  no  wants,  but  in  satisfying  them ; 
not  in  having  been  prosperous,  but  in  prosperity,  that  hap- 
piness essentially  consists.  The  miser  grows  old  enjoying 
rather  than  w^earied  of  life ; the  heir  who  comes  into  posses- 
sion of  his  hoard  dies  of  ennui; — unless  he  know  beforehand, 
it  should  be  added,  wherein  the  advantage  of  wealth  mainly 
consists,  namely,  in  the  power  which  it  gives  to  an  intelligent 
possessor  to  diversify  and  dignify  his  pursuits,  and  thus  to 
multiply  and  ennoble  his  emotions,  or  practically,  his  wants. 


IDLENESS  AND  INFELICITY. 


315 


184.  In  order  that  good  and  honorable  wants  shall  always 
require  a certain  amount  of  exertion  to  appease  them,  and 
thus  that  our  zeal  shall  be  kept  burning,  all  those  things 
which  humanity  most  needs  are  by  a wise  and  benevolent 
Providence  made  the  most  difficult  to  procure.  The  silver 
is  hidden  and  the  gold  is  buried ; every  gift  of  the  field 
requires  man’s  cooperation  before  he  can  enjoy  it;  every 
truth,  even  of  the  most  universal  interest  and  the  most 
practical  tendency,  has  to  be  patiently  and  perseveringly 
inquired  for.  Nothing  in  the  world  that  is  worth  having  is 
gratis ; everything  has  to  be  met  half-way  between  God  and 
ourselves;  and  the  more  our  experience  of  Divine  Provi- 
dence enlarges,  the  more  deeply  do  we  feel  how  beneficent  is 
the  ordinance  that  it  should  be  so  ; how  inglorious  and  nega- 
tive would  be  our  destiny  were  there  nothing  left  for  us  to 
effect  as  of  ourselves.  ‘‘Ask,  and  ye  shall  have,”  is  equally 
true  in  its  reverse ; neglect  to  ask,  and  ye  shall  not  have. 
Whatever  God’s  awaiting  privileges,  everywhere  the  law  is 
that  they  must  be  sought.  Directly  a tree  neglects  to  assert 
its  arboreity,  it  ceases  to  be  a tree,  and  lapses  into  mould. 
Directly  that  a man  falls  into  idleness  and  inactivity  of  soul, 
ceasing  thereby  from  the  true  exercise  of  his  human  nature, 
he  sinks  into  infelicity  and  animalism.  A very  simple 
formula  comprises  the  whole  matter ; the  re-action  of  man 
in  response  to  the  primary  action  of  God,  constitutes  the 
vast  blessedness  it  is  to  Live.  “ Did  the  Almighty,”  says 
Lessing,  “ holding  in  his  right  hand  Truth,  and  in  his  left 
Search  after  Truth,  deign  to  proffer  me  the  one  I should 
prefer,  in  all  humility,  but  without  hesitation,  I should 
request  Search  after  Truth.”  The  most  blessed  of  men  is 
he  who,  working  with  his  own  hands  for  his  daily  bread, 
reaps  delight  from  the  exercise  of  his  intelligence  upon  his 
toils,  and  feels  a holy  harmony  between  the  munificence  of 
God  and  the  duties  which  pertain  to  himself.  The  dream 


316 


ACTION  AND  CHEERFULNESS. 


of  an  existence  perennially  workful,  and  yet  sweet,  free  and 
poetic,  such  as  has  visited  men  in  every  age,  is  not  so  vision- 
ary as  they  have  fancied,  but  it  rests  with  the  dreamer  to 
clothe  it  in  reality. 

185.  Without  action  there  can  be  no  cheerfulness — the 
prime  need  as  well  as  token  of  a true  and  happy  life. 
Doubtless  there  is  a native,  spontaneous  cheerfulness  of 
spirit,  but  that  which  keeps  cheerfulness  alive  is  nothing  else 
than  activity,  sedulously  addressed  to  some  worthy  end. 
This  is  a secret  worth  knowing,  since  without  cheerfulness 
neither  the  intellect  nor  the  affections  can  expand  to  their 
full  growth,  which  is  for  life  never  to  reach  its  proper  alti- 
tude ; while  nothing  is  more  surely  fatal  to  it  than  gloom, 
moroseness,  and  discontent,  unless  it  be  the  petty  envyings, 
jealousies,  and  suspicions,  the  toadstools  of  the  human  heart, 
which  sprout  from  the  same  foul  soil,  or  indolent  inactivity. 
Who  are  the  people  most  generally  given  to  talking  scandal? 
Those  who  for  want  of  some  enlivening  occupation  become 
peevish  and  impatient,  and  know  little  or  nothing  about 
cheerfulness.  Having  nothing  to  agreeably  engage  the 
mind,  the  temptation  to  assume  the  office  of  censor  over 
their  neighbors  is  too  strong  to  resist,  the  whole  heart  be- 
comes tainted  and  purulent,  and  the  very  occupations  that 
make  others  lively  become  an  eye-sore.  Every  one  has 
noticed  the  cheerfulness  which  comes  of  a little  bustle  in 
which  all  parties  are  concerned;  how  ill-tempers  subside, 
and  crossest  faces  become  bland.  A result  as  much  more 
solid  and  graceful  as  the  instrumentality  is  nobler,  infallibly 
follows  regular  and  solid  devotion  of  the  soul  to  aims  that 
demand  its  best  imaginings.  The  beginning  of  idleness  is  an 
ignoble  ruling  love.  The  wants  which  come  of  such  a love 
are  few  and  soon  satisfied,  since  that  which  is  lowest  is 
always  easiest  to  reach,  and  hence  it  is  incessantly  left  des- 
titute. Nothing  so  effectually  prevents  idleness  as  a noble 


ENNUI 


31? 


sympathy.  The  indolent  rich,  who  fancy  themselves  weak 
and  invalided  when  they  are  simply  stagnant  for  want  of  a 
great  purpose,  would  become  sprightly  and  well  directly, 
did  they  but  enter  on  some  genial  and  generous  love,  which 
would  impel  them  into  varied  occupations.  The  very  rest- 
lessness which  frets  them  shows  that  action  is  the  soul  of 
life.  Do  something  they  must;  this  is  a necessity  they  can- 
not evade,  for  absolute  inactivity  is  impossible:  it  is  nature’s 
law  that  employment  shall  go  on  with  every  one  in  some 
sort;  but  in  the  degree  that  the  inevitable  something  is  mean 
and  indeterminate,  the  end  of  the^pursuit  is  mortifying  and 
vain.  God  knows  the  means  to  make  us  work  soberly  and 
usefully.  Do  you  see  any  one  at  a loss  how  to  spend  his 
time,  undecided  where  to  go,  walking  through  dry  places, 
seeking  rest,  and  finding  none?  Be  assured  that  individual 
finds  existence  a burden,  and  is  a total  stranger  to  its  bloom 
and  true  emoluments.  Many  sights  are  melancholy,  but 
none  are  worse  than  the  listless,  jaded  countenances  of  those 
who  have  nothing  worthy  to  devote  their  energies  to.  Yet 
these  faces  could  beani  with  intelligence.  Every  man  is 
happy  by  birth-right.  It  is  his  power  to  be  happy  that 
makes  him  able  to  be  miserable;  the  capacity  for  ennui 
being,  in  fact,  one  of  the  signatures  of  his  immortality.  Why 
brutes  never  suffer  ennui  is  simply  because  they  are  inca- 
pable of  noble  delights.  How  inexcusable  it  is,  if  not 
shameful  and  disgraceful,  to  have  nothing  but  what  is  low 
and  transitory  to  think  about,  and  thus  to  fall  into  such  a 
state  of  dullness,  scarcely  needs  an  observation.  Were  the 
world  empty,  were  it  a silent,  barren  waste,  without  a tree 
or  a blade  of  grass,  there  might  possibly  be  an  excuse;  but 
overflowing  as  it  does  with  the  most  beautiful  curiosities, 
nothing  is  so  utterly  indefensible  as  to  let  a single  waking 
hour  die  blank.  Thanks  be  to  God,  as  soon  as  a man  de- 
sires to  seek,  he  is  always  enabled  to  find;  directly  he  feels 
27 


318 


HOME  AMUSEMENTS. 


his  heart  and  mind  swell  with  a great  desire,  he  finds  the 
woiid  ready  and  waiting  to  supply  him.  Even  though 
busily  engaged  throughout  the  day  in  commercial  or  do- 
mestic avocations,  the  dolcefar  niente  which  our  poor  weari- 
ness is  so  apt  to  plead  in  the  evening,  and  which  no  wise 
man  ever  refuses  to  listen  to  altogethei*,  is  a principle  only 
to  be  admitted  under  the  protest  that  the  proper  rest  for 
man  is  change  of  OG(n.vpo/ion,  There  are  few  kinds  of  busi- 
ness which  fatigue  both  body  and  mind  at  once;  while  one 
toils,  the  other  almost  necessarily  reposes;  when  the  one 
ceases  work,  nature  rules  that  the  other  shall  be  fittest  to 
begin;  and  that  is  a rare  case  indeed  where  either  body  or 
mind  is  debarred  all  opportunity  of  healthful  and  useful 
occupation  when  its  turn  to  work  comes  on.  Man  is  not  so 
imperfectly  constituted,  nor  is  the  world  so  defectively 
framed,  as  for  him  to  be  constrained  to  look  for  pastime  and 
relaxation  anywhere  but  in  change  from  one  improving  em- 
ployment to  another;  it  may  be  questioned  whether  the 
sweetness  of  Home  can  ever  be  truly  enjoyed  where  the  lead- 
ing recreation  does  not  take  the  shape  of  some  intelligent 
and  pretty  pursuit,  such  as  the  formation  of  an  herbarium, 
or  the  use  of  the  microscope  or  pencil.  Boys  would  not 
incessantly  be  in  mischief  and  trouble  were  they  encouraged 
to  study  natural  history;  girls  would  be  far  livelier  and 
companionable,  and  also  enjoy  better  health,  were  they 
trained  to  fixed  habits  of  mental  employment.  The  delight 
of  a single  hour  of  recreation  in  art  or  science,  outweighs  a 
whole  life-time  of  mere  frivolities;  before  the  picture  of  this 
delight,  could  it  be  brought  home  to  him,  the  mere  trifler 
would  sink  in  dismay.  Finding  our  pastime  in  such  pur- 
suits, we  render  ourselves  independent  of  the  casualties  of 
time  and  place,  and  secure  an  arbor  of  our  own,  where  none 
can  molest.  Accustoming  ourselves  to  live  in  ideas,  sorro\^ 
and  misfortune  lose  their  sting.  We  discover  that  though 


ART  OF  CONVERSATION. 


319 


disa]>pointed  of  our  greatest  and  most  cherished  hopes,  that 
is  no  reason  why  we  should  he  impatient,  or  unhappy,  or  no 
longer  given  to  pleasant  wishes  and  desires.  We  get  to  live 
rather  in  that  same  kind  of  well-tempered  hope  and  content- 
edness both  in  one,  which  leads  men  to  plant  trees  for  the 
future.  “To  have  always,”  says  DTsraeli,  “some  secret, 
darling  idea  to  which  we  can  have  recourse  amid  the  noise 
and  nonsense  of  the  world,  and  which  never  fails  to  touch 
us  in  the  most  exquisite  manner,  is  an  art  of  happiness  that 
fortune  cannot  deprive  us  of.”  Many  things  may  furnish 
such  an  idea;  we  have  shown  where  they  may  be  found. 
Nepenthe  still  grows  plentiful  and  green;  the  world  is  full 
of  sweet  places  where  we  may  rest  ourselves,  and  eat  of  the 
lotus.  We  have  no  need  to  court  gaiety  in  order  to  be 
happy;  nor  yet  a large  circle  of  acquaintance.  Few  would 
longer  trouble  themselves  about  mere  “diversions,”  were 
they  once  to  feel  what  it  is  to  possess  the  art  of  self-recrea- 
tion among  the  untaxed  gifts  of  nature. 

186.  While  our  leisure  is  honored  and  agreeably  occupied 
by  such  pursuits,  materials  are  acquired  also  for  that  most 
invaluable  of  the  Fine  Arts,  the  art  of  Conversation,  desti- 
tute of  which,  no  family  or  social  circle  can  be  thoroughly 
happy.  Not  that  mere  dry  scientific  facts  of  themselves  can 
serve  its  purposes,  because  the  best,  most  living  part  of  con- 
versation is  emotional,  imaginative,  bird-like.  Moreover, 
the  richest  conversation  may  be  and  often  is  wholly  inde- 
pendent of  such  facts.  But  where  brothers  and  sisters  have 
each  their  tale  to  tell  of  something  curious  or  interesting 
seen  in  the  day’s  progress,  and  have  a common  interest  in 
each  other’s  discoveries  and  acquisitions,  the  imagination 
soon  finds  wing,  and  the  heart  soon  warms.  To  learn  how 
to  talk,  let  people  learn  how  to  do  something,  and  get  those 
about  them  to  do  the  same.  Of  all  the  unbecoming  things 
which  true  education  would  seek  to  anticipate  and  prevent, 


820 


IIURTFULNESS  OF  GOSSIP. 


that  weak  gossip  about  persons  and  clothes,  eating  and  favx 
pas,  which  generally  passes  current  as  conversation,  is  the 
first  that  demands  to  be  corrected.  With  the  lover  of  noble 
employment,  leisure  indeed,  either  for  trifling  talk,  or  for 
trifles  of  any  kind,  exists  no  longer.  No  one  ever  wants  to 
‘‘kill  time”  who  has  fixed,  intelligent  work  in  hand.  He 
very  soon  discovers  that  to  kill  time  is  to  kill  himself.  The 
time-killer,  the  mere  trifler,  condemns  it  in  his  own  looks, 
for  he  always  seems  ashamed.  We  never  find  him, 
like  Archimedes,  shouting  eupi^xa  I Such  declarations 
of  honorable  joy  are  the  privilege  of  the  wisely  active  in  li- 
beral arts ; no  man,  says  Plutarch,  was  ever  heard  to  cry 
out  after  a luxurious  meal,  fHl^pcoxa!  or  after  another 
form  of  sensual  pleasure,  Tie^iXrpxa ! Briefly,  to  make  it- 
self happy  is  a duty  which  every  created  being,  in  propor- 
tion to  its  capacity,  owes  to  itself  and  to  God ; one  of  the 
chief  characteristics  of  moral  health.  Lord  Bacon  tells  us, 
is  a “ constant  quick  sense  of  felicity,  and  a noble  satisfac- 
tion felicity,  in  its  highest  signification,  implies  all  that 
can  ennoble,  while  it  excites  our  minds ; idleness  and 
trifling,  though  they  may  excite,  can  never  by  any  possibi- 
lity ennoble ; hence  are  the  workers  on  intelligent  pursuits, 
at  once  the  dutiful  to  God,  the  healthy  in  soul,  the  happy 
ones  of  their  race.  Si  non  ingentem,  as  Virgil  says,  “ if  they 
have  not  vestments  curiously  embroidered  with  gold,  and  if 
for  them  the  white  wool  is  not  stained  with  the  Assyrian 
dye— 

At  secura  qiiies,  et  nescia  fallere  vita. 

Dives  opum  variarum, — 

“ Yet  theirs  is  peace  secure,  and  a life  of  solid,  unfallacious  hap- 
piness, rich  in  various  opulence.’^ 

187.  Scientific  and  artististic  recreations,  pursued  either 
j)urcly  on  their  own  account,  or  with  a view  to  agreeable 


PLEASURE  AND  BUSINESS. 


321 


intellectual  intercourses,  by  no  means  demand  the  intense 
application  that  many  suppose.  Neither  is  a little  know- 
ledge the  dangerous  thing  which  others  often  fear.  The  in- 
firmity is  not  to  have  only  a little,  but  to  fancy  that  that 
little  is  a great  deal.  Neither  are  brilliant  talents  wanted ; 
a very  moderate  capacity  will  soon  carry  us  out  to  sea. 
Nor,  again,  is  there  that  incongruity  between  scientific  re- 
creations and  the  ordinary  duties  of  life  which  is  not  infre- 
quently alleged.  “ Business  must  be  attended  to,’’  is  one  of 
the  best  and  safest  maxims  in  the  world ; a man,  as  Dr. 
Johnson  said,  is  never  more  usefully  employed  than  when 
earning  money.  There  is  another  maxim,  however,  fully  as 
important,  and  founded  upon  as  great  a principle,  and  that 
is,  the  intervals  of  business  must  be  attended  to,  implying 
that  there  is  none  of  the  incongruity  supposed.  No  one  can 
sharpen  his  intellectual  faculties,  or  widen  the  range  of  his 
knowledge,  without  becoming  more  skilful  and  successful  in 
the  business  or  profession  in  which  he  is  engaged.  What- 
ever tends  to  cheer  the  understanding  in  leisure  moments,  so 
far  from  being  in  antagonism  to  business  thoughts,  is  com- 
plementary to  them,  and  gives  them  zest.  It  is  doubtful 
whether  any  man  can  heartily  enjoy  the  country  who  does 
not  spend  a large  part  of  every  week  in  town-work ; and  no 
less  questionable  whether  any  one  so  thoroughly  enjoys 
business  as  he  who  turns  to  it  as  a change.  The  same  prin- 
ciple applies  to  literary  recreations.  How  long  is  the  list 
of  men  distinguished  in  commerce,  who  have  also  shone  in 
letters,  even  in  literature  sparkling  with  imagination ! The 
late  Mr.  Roby,  of  Rochdale,  author  of  the  Traditions  of 
Lancashire,  is  a memorable  example.  Mr.  Roby,  says  his 
biographer,  was  not  inapt  for  the  addition  sum  of  the 
banker  because  he  delved  into  legendary  lore,  or  rushed  into 
the  realms  of  the  imagination.  He  showed  in  his  various 
performances  that  the  poetic  temperament  is  not  in  antago- 


322 


PLAY. 


nism  to  tlie  duties  of  life ; a truth  the  sooner  recognized  the 
better.  Many  of  our  best  writers  are  not  professionally  so ; 
they  sweeten  a life  of  physical  labor  by  intellectual  activity, 
and  society  reaps  the  double  harvest.  In  his  ordinary  life 
the  author  is  but  an  ordinary  man,  and  it  is  a monstrous  ex- 
aggeration to  suppose  as  many  do,  that  he  is  always  walking 
with  his  head  among  the  stars  and  his  feet  among  the  flow- 
ers. It  would  not  be  difficult  to  show  that  the  man  who  is 
engaged  during  the  day  in  what  are  commonly  called  unin- 
tellectual employments,  or  in  semi-intellectual  ones,  such  as 
buying,  selling,  and  casting  accounts,  has  a decided  advan- 
tage in  his  leisure  moments,  cwteris  paribus,  over  him  who 
has  wholly  to  think, 

188.  Employment,  therefore,  does  not  mean  no  amuse- 
ment; the  workers,  or  those  who  use  their  time  instead  of 
wasting  it,  have  more  holidays  than  any  one  else,  for  every 
change  is  a going  out  to  play.  When  rational  and  unso- 
phisticated, play,  commonly  so  called,  is  still  work;  at  all 
events,  no  man  ever  played  genially  and  heartily  without 
gaining  something  by  it,  and  thus  gathering  from  it  a fruition 
of  work.  Play,  moreover,  is  perfectly  compatible  with  work ; 
let  no  one  suppose  that  art  and  science  disallow  it,  or  that  they 
render  play  uninteresting  and  distasteful.  Pastime  and  fun 
are  as  great  a need  as  occupation,  and  as  great  a luxury. 
He  who  refuses  to  play  is  but  a stately  fool;  to  sport  and 
gambol  with  children  is  one  of  the  sweetest  lyric  songs  of 
life;  grown  people,  however,  should  remember  that  as  the 
end  of  all  exertion,  even  the  slightest,  should  be  profit,  play 
should  always  be  based  upon  an  intelligent  idea.  People, 
may  be  mirthful  without  being  silly,  just  as  they  may  be 
grave  without  being  gloomy;  a mind  in  right  order  can 
descend  into  frolics  as  readily  as  it  can  soar  into  magnificent 
ideas;  for  it  is  the  characteristic  of  well-disciplined  intelli- 
gence, and  of  purity  and  earnestness  of  the  affections,  that 


USE  OF  AMUSEMENTS. 


323 


they  are  universal  in  their  capacity.  It  is  this  which  makes 
the  philosopher;  the  true  idea  of  whom  is  that  of  an  amia- 
ble and  pious  man,  who  with  the  profound  and  scientific 
combines  the  lively  and  the  droll.  ‘‘My  idea  of  wise  men,” 
says  some  author,  “needs  that  they  shall  be  very  lively:  I 
don’t  call  dull  men  wise.”  Plato  and  Aristotle  were  not 
always  seen  in  their  long  robes,  dignified  and  serious.  No; 
they  were  good-natured  fellows,  who  enjoyed  a laugh  with 
their  friends  like  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  who  loved,  and 
hoped,  and  listened  to  a good  story  with  as  much  zest  as  the 
least  learned.  “ As  much”  did  we  say  ? Culture  of  mind 
enables  us  to  enjoy  far  more  intensely  when  enjoyment  is 
afloat  than  when  our  heads  are  ill-provided.  Love-poetry 
owes  to  Plato  a more  exquisite  stroke  of  nature  than  ever 
was  penned  by  a mere  writer  of  songs  and  valentines: — 
“While  kissing  Agathon,  I had  my  soul  upon  my  lips,  for 
it  came,  the  hapless,  as  if  about  to  depart.”  Many  persons, 
it  is  true,  live  without  amusement;  grave,  dull,  would-be 
moralists  and  sages;  and  certainly,  pastime  is  not  so  indis- 
pensably necessary  after  the  mental  and  physical  constitu- 
tions have  arrived  at  maturity,  as  before.  It  by  no  means 
follows,  however,  that  such  persons  would  not  live  happier 
and  more  useful  lives  if  they  resorted  occasionally  to  the 
ordinary  sports  of  mankind.  None  ever  decry  play  and  fun 
but  those  who  are  strangers  to  their  value.  The  love  of 
them  is  one  of  the  signs  of  a great  nature.  All  true  genius 
is  in  its  very  essence,  a joyous  faculty;  “wit”  originally  sig- 
nifies the  very  highest  efforts  of  mind.  It  is  only  by  looking 
around  as  well  as  upwards  that  a large  and  just  conception  of 
life  is  attainable,  and  therefore  that  life  is  truly  realized.  “A 
mind  charged  with  vitality,  and  sustained  by  trust  in  God, 
will  not  only  look  cheerfully  to  the  goal  of  its  pilgrimage, 
but  have  ample  stores  of  gladness  to  expend  upon  the 
journey.  The  Muses  have  left  no  diaries,  or  doubtless  we 


324 


ACTION  THE  SOURCE  OF  POWER. 


should  rind  that  they  had  their  gipsy-parties  and  lively 
games;  that  they  danced  and  sang  for  pure  enjoyment;  and 
visited  mortal  dreamers  not  only  in  inspiring  vision,  but 
sometimes  to 

‘Tickle  men’s  noses  as  they  lay  asleep.’  ” 

In  a word,  though  recreation  with  science  and  literature  be  the 
most  solid  and  unfailing  kind  of  play,  it  is  not  the  only  kind 
we  need.  With  all  his  toil,  and  care,  and  penury  of  time,  the 
man  who  devotes  himself  to  learning,  or  science,  or  business, 
is  no  gainer  in  the  end,  if  he  do  not  take  part  sometimes  in 
lively  entertainments.  For  a while  he  may  seem  to  suffer 
nothing;  but  the  belief  of  his  being  able  to  dispense  with 
such  playing  is  only  a delusion ; there  is  a heavy  reckoning 
going  on  against  him,  which  sooner  or  later  will  have  to  be 
paid  in  suffering  and  premature  exhaustion.  Work  and 
play  are  reciprocally  advantageous.  While  without  due 
play,  there  is  no  effective  working,  on  the  other  hand,  in 
order  to  play  heartily  with  the  body,  we  must  learn  how  to 
play  heartily,  in  privacy,  with  the  soul.  No  man  thoroughly 
enjoys  play,  or  knows  what  play  really  is,  who  cannot  spend 
hours  of  solitude  in  comfort. 

189.  In  the  degree  that  we  employ  ourselves,  we  acquire 
Power.  As  nature,  ever  shifting  and  transforming,  is  most 
beautiful  and  delicious  when  it  is  not  strictly  either  spring, 
or  summer,  or  autumn, — morning,  noon,  evening,  or  night; 
so,  all  the  potency  we  ever  possess,  is  referable  to  our  mo- 
ments of  action,  or  when  we  are  experiencing  or  effecting 
Changes ; the  period  of  transition  is  that  in  which  power  is 
developed ; to  acquire  and  to  wield  it,  we  must  be  forever 
seeking  to  quit  the  state  we  are  in,  and  to  rise  into  a higher 
one.  Power,  accordingly,  which  is  only  life  under  another 
name,  is  resolvable,  essentially,  into  constant  progression. 
It  never  consists  in  the  having  been,  but  always  in  the 


AIDS  TO  MARRIED  HAPPINESS. 


325 


becoming ; we  flourish  in  proportion  to  our  desire  to  emerge 
out  of  To-day.  It  is  often  asked  concerning  a stranger, 
Where  does  he  come  from  ? The  better  question  would  be, 
Where  is  he  going  to  f Never  mind  the  antecedents,  if  he 
be  now  in  some  shining  pathway.  Other  people  are  con- 
tinually heard  wishing  to  be  settled.”  It  may  be  useful  to 
be  settled  as  to  our  physical  resources ; but  to  be  settled  in 
any  other  way  is  the  heaviest  misfortune  that  can  befall  a 
man,  for  when  settled,  he  ceases  to  improve,  and  is  like  a 
ship  stranded  high  and  dry  upon  the  sand.  Who  is  the 
man  from  whose  society  and  conversation  we  derive  soundest 
pleasure  and  instruction  ? Not  he  who,  as  it  is  facetiously 
said,  has  “ completed  his  education,”  but  he  who,  like  a bee, 
is  daily  wandering  over  the  fields  of  thought.  The  privilege 
of  living  and  associating  with  a person  who  knows  how  to 
think,  and  is  not  afraid  to  think,  is  inestimable ; and  no- 
where is  it  felt  more  profoundly  than  in  the  intimate  com- 
panionship of  wedded  life.  Rousseau  finds  in  this  need  a 
beautiful  argument  for  inspiring  one’s  beloved,  during  the 
sweet,  plastic  days  of  betrothal,  with  a taste  for  the  ameni- 
ties of  nature,  such  as  shall  provide  a source  in  after  years, 
of  lasting  and  mutual  delight.  How  pleasing,  when  many 
summers  of  married  love  have  thrown  those  hallowed  days 
far  into  the  rear,  to  note  again  the  uncurling  ferns  of  spring, 
wrapped  so  comfortably  in  their  curious  brown  scales ; the 
pretty  scarlet  hedge-strawberries  gathered  for  her  hand,  the 
delicate  mosses,  and  the  hundred  other  objects  then  first 
noticed,  objects  which  set  both  mind  and  lips  in  action, 
invoking  currents  of  sweet  converse,  kindling  looks  from 
which  we  turned  to  the  sunshine  for  relief,  and  opening  the 
way  to  long  trains  of  agreeable  and  profitable  contempla- 
tion, enlarged  with  every  new  impulse  to  mutual  tenderness. 
The  being  afraid  to  think  is  the  chief  reason  perhaps  why 
the  majority  of  people  are  so  disinclined  to  think — to  think, 
28 


326 


TRUE  PRINCIPLES  OF  EDUCATION. 


that  is,  beyond  the  little  circle  of  their  bodily  wants.  There 
can  be  few  who  are  positively  imahle  to  think ; otherwise 
thought  and  happiness  would  not  bear  the  close  natural 
relation  which  they  do.  Put  a grand  idea  before  tlie  gene- 
rality of  people,  and  it  seems  to  them  like  looking  up  a 
ship’s  mast  from  the  deck.  Yet  it  is  not  that  they  cannot 
ascend,  using  the  proper  means ; they  let  themselves  be  ter- 
rified away,  fancying  they  are  unable,  when  they  are  merely 
self-distrustful.  Doubtless  there  is  a difierence  in  aptitude, 
but  every  one  may  become  stronger  if  he  will ; the  worst 
unbelief  is  unbelief  in  one’s  self;  it  only  needs  confidence 
and  a start ; whatever  we  may  get  from  others,  or  from  the 
world,  has  grown  from  germs  such  as  we  have  also  in  our- 
selves— whence  it  is  that  in  our  reading  we  are  so  continu- 
ally coming  up  with  ideas  that  we  feel  to  be  our  own ; nor 
is  there  anything  more  beautiful  in  creation  than  each  man’s 
own  private  soul,  when  fairly  dealt  with  and  elicited.  Helen, 
when  she  explored  nature  for  a model  of  a golden  cup  that 
she  should  offer  upon  the  altar  of  Diana  as  perfectly  beau- 
tiful, found  nothing  more  exquisite  than  her  own  bosom. 

190.  Practically  then — for  to  bring  us  to  some  practical 
conclusioR  is  the  sole  use  of  such  considerations — we  learn 
from  the  great  law  of  Action  the  spring  of  Happiness,  that 
to  encourage  love  of  work  is  the  first  article  of  sensible 
Education.  In  effect,  this  is  the  stimulating  of  the  Intellect 
and  the  Affections  which  has  already  been  adverted  to  under 
other  heads.  All  action,  to  be  efficacious  for  good,  must 
rise  into  a certain  intensity;  it  must  also  be  regular  and 
determinate,  and  it  is  only  training  and  culture  that  can 
make  it  so.  As  in  the  structure  of  plants  and  animals, 
where  any  organ  is  deficient,  or  there  is  departure  from 
symmetry,  it  is  uniformly  referable  to  a weakening  of  the 
vital  energies,  or  to  restraint  or  diversion  of  them  away 
from  their  proper  office ; so  when  our  experience  of  life  is 


WORK. 


327 


infelicitous  and  unrewarding,  it  is  because  the  natural 
activity  of  the  soul  has  either  been  repressed,  or  neglected, 
or  turned  astray  in  early  youth.  The  unhappy  are  those 
“who  from  want  of  practice  cannot  manage  their  thoughts, 
who  have  few  to  select  from,  and  who,  because  of  their 
sloth  or  weakness,  do  not  roll  away  the  heaviest,”  and  these 
are  precisely  the  individuals  whom  observation  would  per- 
ceive to  be  laboring  under  imperfect  discipline  of  the 
spiritual  activities,  dating  from  the  very  commencement  of 
education.  Ordinarily,  to  the  young,  work  is  rendered  so 
unattractive,  and  the  idea  of  pleasure  so  entirely  dissevered 
from  it,  that  the  first  wears  the  semblance  of  a penalty,  and 
the  latter  of  the  true  object  of  existence.  This  is  to  com- 
pletely neutralize  the  design  of  work,  and  to  despoil  life  of 
its  highest  luxuries.  Pleasure  is  not  bestowed  on  us  to  be 
made  a motive;  still  less  is  it  to  be  deemed,  as  by  many,  a 
right  of  human  existence,  and  its  non-arrival  an  exhibition 
of  Divine  injustice.  What  we  ought  to  let  reign  in  our 
minds,  is  primarily,  work,  which  translates  itself,  in  every 
true  soul,  into  the  duty  of  development.  Let  the  prseludia 
of  stem  and  foliage  be  made  the  business,  and  the  fiowers 
will  come  of  their  own  accord,  and  fill  the  air  with  fragrance. 
“ In  teaching,”  says  the  good  Jean  Paul,  “ accustom  the  boy 
to  regard  his  future,  not  as  a path  from  pleasures,  though 
innocent,  to  other  pleasures ; nor  even  as  a gleaning,  from 
spring-time  to  harvest,  of  flowers  and  fruits ; but  as  a time 
in  which  he  must  execute  some  long  plan ; let  him  aim  at  a 
long  course  of  activity — not  of  pleasure.”  Then  he  shows 
how  privileged  is  such  a course : “ That  man  is  happy,  for 
instance,  who  devotes  his  life  to  the  cultivation  of  an  island, 
to  the  discovery  of  one  that  is  lost,  or  to  the  extent  of  the 
ocean.  I would  rather  be  the  court-gardener  who  watches 
and  protects  an  aloe  for  fifteen  years,  until  at  last  it  opens 
to  him  the  heaven  of  its  blossom,  than  the  prince  who  is 


32S 


WORK  AND  BODILY  HEALTH. 


hastily  called  to  look  at  the  opened  heaven.  Tlie  writer  of 
a dictionary  rises  every  morning,  like  the  sun,  to  move  pjist 
some  little  star  in  his  zodiac ; a new  letter  is  to  him  a new 
year’s  festival,  the  conclusion  of  an  old  one  a harvest-home.’’ 
Bodily  health,  as  well  as  spiritual,  depends  on  work.  Very 
many  of  the  complaints  so  frequently  heard  from  the  deli- 
cate young  women  of  our  day,  as  want  of  vigor,  inability  to 
bear  exposure,  deficiency  of  strength  to  walk  far,  may  be 
traced  to  other  and  earlier  causes  than  supposed,  settling  at 
last  into  absence  of  well-trained  mental  power,  such  as 
would  seek  an  outlet  in  useful  and  agreeable  occupation. 
But  mental  power,  let  them  understand,  is  not  to  be  gained 
from  senseless  fiction y which  leading,  as  it  is  almost  sure  to 
do  in  the  end,  to  discontented  dreams  of  what  might  have 
been,  or  should  be,  keeps  the  heart  away  from  thankful  per- 
ception and  enjoyment  of  what  is;  it  is  to  be  got  from  no 
such  miserable  waste  of  time  as  this ; but  from  steady  and 
well-directed  reading  of  stories  not  fictitious,  and  from  steady 
and  systematic  contemplation  of  the  works  of  nature. 
Seeking  to  improve  themselves  as  intelligent  beings,  our 
young  ladies  would  not  half  as  often  want  the  doctor. 
Rational  work  they  would  find,  moreover,  less  fatiguing 
than  the  very  pastimes  which  they  fancy  true  enjoyment. 
Under  proper  management,  work  never  becomes  irksome. 
When  prematurely  fatigued,  it  is  not  the  action  that  has 
tired  us,  but  want  of  ingenious  and  orderly  methods.  W ork 
never  killed  or  hurt  any  man  who  knew  how  to  go  about  it. 
See  what  order  there  is  in  nature ! Along  with  sublimest 
activity,  what  smoothness  and  ease ! How  still  the  growth 
of  the  plant,  yet  how  rapid  ! How  peacefully  the  stars  of 
midnight  seem  encamped ; yet  before  morning  whole  armies 
have  disappeared ! So  much  is  achieved,  because  every- 
thing is  done  in  order,  at  the  right  time,  intently,  yet  de- 
liberately, and  the  minutes  never  wasted  in  indecision.  In 


WORK  IN  THE  FUTURE  STATE. 


329 


work,  then,  consists  the  true  pride  of  life.  Grounded  in 
active  employment,  though  early  ardor  may  abate,  it  never 
degenerates  into  indifference;  and  age,  as  we  have  said 
before,  lives  in  perennial  youth.  Life  is  a weariness  only  to 
the  idle,  or  where  the  soul  is  empty,  and  better  than  to  exist 
thus  vacantly,  is  it  for  longevity  as  to  birth-days  to  be 
denied. 

191.  The  consideration  of  this  great  principle.  Action  the 
spring  of  Happiness,  though  it  is  in  regard  to  the  present 
life  that  it  practically  concerns  us,  belongs  as  largely  to 
right  estimates  of  the  life  to  come.  Doubtless,  the  means  by 
which  we  secure  enjoyment  upon  earth,  instruct  us  as  to  the 
proximate  source  of  the  enjoyments  that  will  be  felt  in 
heaven,  a subject  that  cannot  be  uninteresting  to  any  man 
who  reflects  for  a moment  how  long  he  hopes  to  live  there. 
That  the  same  re-action  of  man,  in  response  to  the  primary 
action  of  God,  which  here  makes  life  and  happiness,  will 
similarly  engender  it  hereafter,  we  may  gather,  indeed,  most 
plainly,,  from  the  divine  oracles  themselves.  When  we  are 
told  so  consolingly,  that  to  die  is  to  go  to  rest,  and  that 
‘‘Blessed  are  the  dead  who  die  in  the  Lord,  for  they  rest 
from  their  labors,’^  it  is  not  meant  that  by  entering  the  future 
state  we  enter  on  a state  of  passiveness.  There  can  be  no 
happiness  or  holiness,  even  in  heaven,  if  the  life  be  one  of 
mere  quiescence.  Do  we  not  see,  even  in  this  world,  that 
those  who  would  have  us  understand  by  Remember  the 
Sabbath-day  to  keep  it  holy,  Remember  to  keep  it  idle,  i.  e., 
idle  as  regards  everything  but  religious  discipline;  do  we 
not  see,  even  in  this  world,  that  they  prescribe  a course 
against  which  all  nature  rebels,  and  which  fails  from  its  very 
absurdity?  How  much  more  impossible  will  it  be  to  keep 
holy  the  everlasting  sabbath,  except  by  supplementing  its 
peculiar  duties  of  praise  and  worship  with  useful  and  bene- 
volent occupations.  The  labors  which  will  be  “rested  from^^ 
28  ■* 


# 


3.W 


GOD  THE  GREAT  WORKER. 


are  the  resistance  of  temptations,  the  endurance  of  trials, 
the  struggles  with  evil,  which  incessantly  harass  our  tem- 
poral existence;  all  our  chosen  and  happier  activities  will 
continue,  in  a more  glorious  manner,  and  with  the  perfect 
results  which  on  earth  are  unattainable.  The  best  and 
wisest  of  mankind  have  always  had  a conviction  that  it 
will  be  so.  ‘‘He  felt,”  says  the  memoir  of  Dr.  Gordon, 
“that  there  would  be  no  interval  of  unconsciousness,  no  ces- 
sation of  activity,  no  intermission  of  enjoyment;  that  though 
the  mode  of  existence  would  be  changed,  the  existence  itself 
would  be  neither  destroyed  nor  suspended.”*  We  may 
learn  much  from  the  very  term  that  Scripture  employs.  It 
is  never  said  that  we  shall  rest  from  our  work,  only  from 
“labor.”  Labor  is  that  exertion  which  is  irksome  and 
painful ; work  that  which  is  congenial,  welcome,  a delightful 
exercise.  Labor  is  the  toil  of  the  soul  and  body  upon  things 
in  opposition  to  them;  work  is  the  bestowal  of  their  best 
energies  on  what  pleases  and  recompenses.  Work,  rightly 
understood,  is  divine,  and  nothing  that  is  divine  can  ever 
cease.  It  is  divine  because  it  comes  out  of  the  inmost  spirit 
of  goodness  and  love,  and  thus,  primarily,  from  God,  whereas 
indolence  and  laziness  come  of  the  very  essence  of  evil. 
Who  is  the  greatest  workman  in  the  universe?  He  who 
works,  from  out  of  His  infinite  Love,  for  the  smallest  insect 
as  well  as  the  immortal  angel.  That  the  wicked  are  often 
diligent,  more  diligent,  possibly,  than  many  of  the  good,  is 
no  objection;  because  the  diligence  of  such  does  not  come  of 
their  evil,  as  to  its  own  intrinsic  nature,  but  of  its  necessities; 
work  must  be  done  in  order  that  the  means  may  be  procured 
whereby  the  appetites  of  the  evil  shall  be  indulged.  The 
idea  of  an  idle  heaven  is  a very  low  and  unintelligent  one: 
it  could  only  have  arisen  with  the  indolent  upon  earth;  and 


Tiie  Christian  J^liilosoplicr  triunij>liing  over  Death,  p.  177. 


MINISTRATION  OF  ANGELS. 


331 


wherever  found,  we  may  be  sure  there  is  an  indolent  spirit 
underneath.  Heaven,  like  the  Lord  himself,  who  to  the 
pure  appears  pure,  who  to  the  merciful  appears  merciful,  is 
measured  by  each  man  according  to  his  own  character  and 
inclinations,  and  if  we  would  ask  which  view  is  nearer  to  the 
truth,  we  may  be  sure  it  is  that  which  most  exalts  us.  If 
true  life  consist  in  well-directed  activity  while  we  are  here, 
assuredly  the  continuation  of  our  life  in  heaven  will  derive 
its  blessedness,  in  no  slight  degree,  from  the  new  and  mag- 
nificent opportunities  it  will  there  enjoy.  There  will  be  an 
external  world  of  nature  to  study,  consisting  of  that  inex- 
haustible store  of  spiritual  objects  and  phenomena  which 
forms  the  scenery  of  the  spiritual  world,  and  which  is  the 
prototype  of  the  material  worlds  and  their  contents,  and 
inviting  us  to  endless  research  and  contemplation;  there 
will  also  be  good  uses  to  fulfill,  the  prototypes  of  practical 
charity  and  affection  upon  earth,  and  which  will  be  largely 
-directed,  there  is  every  reason  to  believe,  to  the  spiritual 
needs  of  the  successive  and  interminable  generations  of  men. 
Angel,  literally  “messenger,’’  is  not  so  much  a designation 
of  nature,  as  commonly  supposed,  as  a title  or  name  of 
ofiice ; and  no  office  can  be  conceived  more  superb  than  that 
of  aiding  and  protecting  souls  still  upon  their  pilgrimage. 
That  such  functions  are  exercised,  in  other  words,  the  doc- 
trine of  the  “ ministration  of  angels,”  has  soothed  and  encou^ 
raged  the  virtuous  of  every  age;  the  Grecian  belief  in  dacfJLOi^et^ 
or  invisible  attendant  genii,  was  itself  a recognition  of  the 
guardianship  of  that  celestial  fraternity,  the  “bright  band” 
which  gave  cause  to  Archdeacon  Hare  to  say  so  beautifully, 
that  whila  it  is  blessed  to  have  friends  on  eartli,  it  is  yet 
more  blessed  to  have  friends  in  heaven.  Leigh  Hunt, 
speaking  of  Shelley  (whovse  virtues  we  should  do  well  to 
ren.ember  before  his  failings),  acknowledges  this  fine  senti- 
ment in  the  most  exquisite  manner;  “Alas!  and  he  suffered 


332 


BENJAMIN  WEST. 


for  years,  as  Ariel  did  in  the  cloven  pine;  but  now  he  is  out 
of  it,  and  serving  the  purposes  of  Beneficence  with  a calm- 
ness befitting  his  knowledge  and  his  love/’  Thus  is  our 
destiny,  even  in  this  world,  sublime,  if  we  will  but  serve 
God,  and  not  Mammon.  For  the  “spirits  of  just  men  made 
perfect”  then  come  into  company  with  us;  they  “encamp” 
around  us,  and  “minister”  to  us,  even  as  they  themselves  are 
ministered  to  by  the  Lord.  It  is  no  mere  fancy  of  a fond 
mother  that  the  smile  of  her  sleeping  infant  comes  of  the 
angels’  whisper.  So  lovely  an  idea  would  not  live  among 
the  hallowed  ones  were  it  not  the  reflection  of  a heaven-sent 
truth;  when  the  heart  in  its  thankful  musings  lifts  itself 
towards  the  skies,  it  is  never  sent  away  with  a falsehood  in 
it.  Wonderful  has  been  the  effect  upon  mankind  even  of 
this  little  ministry.  It  was  the  smiling  in  her  sleep  of  Ben- 
jamin West’s  infant  niece  that  led  him,  though  quite  a boy, 
to  use  the  pencil.  He  was  placed  to  watch  the  cradle,  and 
struck  by  the  innocent  smiles  of  his  little  charge,  drew  her 
as  she  lay. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


DEATH  IK  BELATIOK  TO  THE  SEIItITUAZ-IIFE. 

192.  Ip  life  be  realized  only  in  the  degree  that  it  is 
happy,  then  is  an  infelicitous  existence  only  a kind  of 
death;  and  the  man  who  experiences  it,  though  he  may 
walk  about,  eat,  drink,  and  sleep  like  other  men — virtually, 
and  as  regards  all  the  true  idea  and  design  of  life,  is  dead. 
It  sounds  strangely,  but  if  there  be  a state  of  spirit  which  it 
is  right,  preeminently,  to  call  Life,  by  reason  of  its  excel- 
lence and  exaltation,  the  contrary  condition  can  be  no  other 
than  what  we  have  said.  Life  is  where  there  are  hope, 
faith,  reverence,  sense  of  the  beautiful,  the  sentiment  of  reli- 
gion ; death  is  where  these  are  absent  or  extinguished. 
Death,  in  fact,  like  Life,  is  no  unitary  thing ; there  are  as 
many  ways  of  dying  as  of  living,  and  as  the  highest  kinds 
of  life  are  those  which  belong  to  and  express  themselves  in 
the  Soul,  in  the  Soul,  too,  are  suffered  the  bitterest  of  deaths. 
In  childhood  we  do  not  know  this.  Death’s  heaviest  shafts 
seem  to  be  those  which  fall  on  things  external  to  us,  as  pa- 
rents, friends,  companions ; but  as  our  experience  enlarges, 
we  discover  that  no  death  is  so  sad,  no  death  so  momentous 
in  its  consequences,  as  the  death  of  the  things  which  die 
within.  So  true  is  this,  that  often  the  greatest  epoch  in  a 
man’s  life  is  by  no  means  the  day  of  his  physical  death,  but 
the  day  in  which  he  has  died  to  something  more  important 
to  him  than  the  whole  world.  ‘‘  That  which  has  died  within 
us,”  says  Hare,  “ is  often  the  saddest  portion  of  what  Death 

333 


334 


DEATH  OF  FEELINGS  AND  IDEAS. 


has  taken  away — sad  to  all,  sad  above  measure  to  those  in 
whom  no  higher  life  has  been  awakened.  The  heavy 
thought  is  the  thought  of  what  we  were,  of  what  we  hoped 
and  purposed  to  have  been,  of  what  we  ought  to  have  been, 
of  what  but  for  ourselves  we  might  have  been,  set  by  the 
side  of  what  we  are,  as  though  we  were  haunted  by  the 
ghost  of  our  own  youth.  This  is  a thought  the  crushing 
weight  of  which  nothing  but  a strength  above  our  own  can 
lighten.’’  Death,  accordingly,  in  its  most  sorrowful  sense, 
is  not  the  death  of  the  body,  but  the  death  of  feelings  and 
ideas — the  death  of  our  love.  For  when  men  say  that  they 
have  no  ‘‘  sj)irit”  for  a thing,  or  no  “ heart”  for  it,  it  is  only 
another  way  of  saying  that  they  have  no  love,”  which  is 
practically  to  have  no  “life”  for  it.  Spirit  is  breath,  and 
the  heart  is  figuratively  the  blood,  and  ^ the  breath  and 
the  blood  all  life  is  circled  in.  So  with  the  expressions 
“ dead  to  hope,”  “ dead  to  enjoyment,”  “ dead  to  enterprise.” 
Those  who  are  thus  lifeless  are  they  who,  having  lost  their 
property,  or  their  animal  pleasures,  or  who,  having  had 
their  worldly  schemes  defeated,  and  have  found  no  better 
things  to  set  their  affections  on,  have  lost  their  love,  for  life  is 
union  with  the  object  of  our  love.  “Nabal’s  heart  died 
within  him,  and  he  became  a stone.”  How  sublime  a 
contrast  where  those  better  things  have  been  acquired ! 

Soft  was  the  voice  of  the  priest,  and  he  spoke  with  an  accent  of 
kindness. 

But  on  Evangeline^s  heart  fell  his  words  as  in  winter  the  snow- 
flakes 

Fall  into  some  lone  nest  from  which  the  birds  have  departed. 
***** 

So  was  her  love  diffused,  but  like  to  some  odorous  spices, 

Suflered  no  waste  nor  loss,  tliough  filling  tlie  air  witli  aroma. 

Otlier  hopes  she  had  none,  nor  wish  in  life,  but  to  follow 
Meekly,  witli  reverent  stejis,  the  sacred  feet  of  her  Saviour. 


DEATH  OF  SPIRIT. 


335 


Of  all  sad  things  in  the  world,  the  saddest  yet  is  that  which, 
living  to  appearance,  in  soul  is  dead.  Not  only  in  human 
beings  is  it  witnessed : towns,  countries,  institutions,  may  lie 
dead,  though  alive,  as  pictured  in  that  wonderful  passage  in 
the  Giaour,  so  beautiful  in  the  midst  of  its  inexpressible 
mournfulness,  where  the  still  and  melancholy  aspect  of  the 
once  busy  and  glorious  shores  of  Greece  is  compared  to  the 
features  of  the  dead, — 

Ere  the  first  day  of  death  hath  fied. 

* * * * 

Such  is  the  aspect  of  this  shore, 

’Tis  Greece,  but  living  Greece  no  more ! 

Every  man  experiences  a measure  of  such  death.  Every 
mortification  ” we  endure  is  literally  a death.”  Secu- 
larly, at  least,  if  not  in  the  higher  sense  of  the  words,  like 
the  flowers  of  the  Cistus,  we  ‘‘  die  daily and  the  more  that 
the  temporal  is  loved,  the  more  does  the  death  afilict.  For 
it  is  of  attempting  to  love  the  transitory  and  perishable — so 
far  as  it  is  capable  of  being  loved — and  thus  of  loving  what 
is  only  a continual  vicissitude,  that  death  of  spirit  comes. 
That  which  undergoes  vicissitude  has  only  a seeming  life  in 
it,  and  therefore  the  love  of  it,  so  far  as  it  is  worthy  the  name 
of  love,  can  never  uphold  itself  into  a true  and  felicitative 
life,  for  this  comes  only  of  loving  the  unchangeable.  Be- 
fore the  eye  of  Truth,”  says  Fichte,  all  life  which  finds  its 
love  in  the  temporary,  and  seeks  its  enjoyment  in  any  other 
object  than  the  eternal  and  unchangeable,  is  vain  and  un- 
blessed, because  it  loves  only  death.” 

193.  What  we  have  chiefly  spoken  of  is  the  death  of  feel- 
ings having  relation  to  temporal  and  external  things;  far 
more  solemn  and  momentous  is  the  death  of  those  which 
have  relation  to  morals  and  religion.  Both  kinds  might  be 
contemplated  as  to  the  place  of  their  beginning,  which  is 


336 


REAL  DEATH  IS  LOSS  OF  VIRTUE. 


likewise  twofold,  e.,  in  the  intellect  or  in  the  affections. 
The  duality  in  the  springs  of  life  involves  duality  in  the 
place  of  death.  As  physical  death  is  referable  either  to  the 
heart  or  to  the  lungs,  so  is  spiritual  death  referable  either  to 
the  will  or  the  understanding,  and  is  marked  by  correspond- 
ent phenomena.  “The  d7roAc6(0(7t(^  or  petrifaction  of  the 
soul,”  says  Epictetus,  “is  double;  in  the  one  case  it  is  stupi- 
fied  in  its  intellectuals;  the  other  is  when  it  is  dead  in  its 
morals.  He  who  is  thus  dead,  is  not  to  be  disputed  with.” 
But  there  is  no  need  to  analyze  so  minutely.  It  is  sufficient 
to  distinguish  between  death  to  what  is  good,  and  death  to 
what  is  bad,  whether  of  an  intellectual  or  an  emotional 
character.  The  Scriptural  expressions  of  being  “dead  in 
trespasses  and  sins,”  and  of  being  “dead  to  sin,”  exactly 
illustrate  the  difference.  In  every  age  there  has  been  a 
perception  that  real  death  consists  in  loss  of  wisdom  and 
virtue.  “It  is  a doctrine  of  immemorial  antiquity  that  the 
real  death  pertains  to  those  who  on  earth  are  immersed  in 
the  Lethe  of  its  passions  and  fascinations,  and  that  the  real 
life  commences  only  when  the  soul  is  emancipated  from 
them.”  Evil  and  falsity  bring  spiritual  life  to  an  end,  just 
as  diseases  do  animal  life.  “What  then  are  we  to  say?” 
concludes  Philo.  “Surely  that  death  is  of  two  kinds — the 
one  being  the  death  of  the  man;  the  other,  the  peculiar 
death  of  the  soul.  The  death  of  the  man  is  the  separation 
of  the  soul  from  the  body;  the  death  of  the  soul  is  the  de- 
struction of  virtue  and  the  admission  of  vice.”*  Aristophanes, 
in  a well-known  passage,  calls  the  depraved  citizens  of 
Athens  “dead  men,”  and  founded,  no  doubt,  on  the  corres- 
pondence thus  acknowledged,  was  the  belief  among  his 
countrymen  and  other  ancient  nations,  that  to  see  or  touch 
dead  bodies  was  a great  pollution.  Jodrell  gives  numerous 


Allegories  of  the  Sacred  Laws,  Book  i.,  end. 


SCRIPTURAL  MEANINGS  OF  DEATH. 


337 


illustrations,  both  from  historical  and  poetic  sources,  (iii.  15.) 
In  the  ancient  Jewish  law,  for  the  same  original  reason,  it 
was  one  of  the  things  required  to  be  followed  up  by  “cleans- 
ing.” “This  is  the  law,  when  a man  dieth  in  a tent,  all  that 
come  into  the  tent,  and  all  that  is  in  the  tent,  shall  be  un- 
clean seven  days.”  * Vice  as  identified  with  death,  is  not 
necessarily  vice  in  its  baser  forms,  or  crime;  it  is  wilful  vio- 
lation of  the  laws  of  God,  whether  externalized  into  criminal 
act  or  not;  and  it  is  this  which  is  chiefly  intended  by 
“ death”  in  Scripture.  “ Life”  is  attainment  of  union  with 
God,  founded  on  reconciliation  with  one's  self;  “death”  is 
secession  from  truth  and  goodness.  When,  for  instance, 
Christ  says  that  he  shall  come  to  judge  “the  quick  and  the 
dead,”  the  meaning  is,  all  mankind,  both  good  and  evil.  So 
when  David  exclaims,  “In  death  there  is  no  remembrance 
of  thee,”  he  intends,  those  wLo  cease  to  obey  God,  cease  also 
to  think  of  God.  “Lighten  mine  eyes,  lest  I sleep  the  sleep 
of  death,”  is  a prayer  to  quicken  the  soul  with  new  aptitude 
for  sacred  things.  It  is  the  very  same  death  which  is 
intended  in  the  parable  of  the  Prodigal  Son — “ For  this  my 
son  was  dead,  and  is  alive  again;”  and  which  the  Apostle 
alludes  to  when  he  says,  “We  know  that  we  have  passed 
from  death  unto  life.”  In  its  direst  degree,  this  is  the  death 
which  on  the  other  side  of  the  grave  becomes  “hell,”  and 
which  begins  it  even  in  this  world.  It  is  by  no  metaphor 
that  men  who  have  steeped  themselves  in  iniquities,  cry  out 
that  they  suffer  the  tortures  of  the  pit.  As  no  man  enters 
heaven  after  the  death  of  the  material  body,  but  he  who  has 
received  heaven  into  his  soul  in  this  life;  so  “hell”  is  an 
intensifying  and  consolidating  forever,  of  infernal  states  that 


* Numbers  xix.  14.  See  also  chap,  vi.,  and  Leviticus,  chaps,  xv., 
xxi.,  &c. 


29 


P 


338 


DEATH  VIEWED  AS  REJUVENESCENCE. 


have  already  been  sunk  into.  ‘‘Though  tliis  a heavenly 
angel/’  exclaims  lachimo,  looking  at  Imogen  asleep, 

“ Though  this  a heavenly  angel,  hell  is  herej* 

Death,  in  Scripture,  when  signifying  death  to  virtue,  poten- 
tially means  also  the  eternal  perdition  of  the  soul,  as  in 
James  v.  20,  whence  it  is  that  we  are  so  earnestly  urged  to 
fly  from  it,  seeing  that  after  the  dissolution  of  the  material 
body,  ability  to  escape  is  at  an  end. 

194.  Death  to  what  is  evil  is  rejuvenescence.  Though 
consecrated  by  use  in  Scripture,  it  is  a mode  of  expression, 
therefore,  which  an  exacter  rhetoric  would  supersede  with 
“life  to  good.”  A man  cannot  properly  be  said  to  “die  to 
evil,”  because  evil  is  in  itself  death.  He  can  only  die  to 
that  which  is  essentially  Life,  or  good.  “Death  to  evil”  is 
like  “Blessed  Life,”  a j)hrase  which,  “according  to  the  true 
view  of  the  matter,”  says  Fichte,  “has  in  it  something  super- 
fluous, to  wit,  life  is  necessarily  blessed;  the  thought  of  an 
unblessed  life  carries  with  it  a contradiction.  Death  alone 
is  unblessed.  What  is  unblessed,  does  not  really  and  truly 
live;  but  in  most  of  its  component  parts  is  sunk  in  death 
and  nothingness.”  By  whichever  name  we  call  it, — death 
to  evil,  or  return  to  youth  and  life, — nothing  ever  occurs  in 
the  soul  of  man  which  more  deeply  and  vitally  affects  him : 
for  it  carries  with  it  the  change  which  it  is  the  ofiice  of  re- 
ligion to  promote,  or  what  Scripture  terms  regeneration. 
Hence  it  is  the  true  “resurrection.”  That  which  is  com- 
monly so  called,  is  simply  the  exchange  of  one’s  sphere  of 
action,  induced  by  the  dissolution  of  the  material  body ; — an 
exchange  which  in  no  way  affects  or  alters  the  moral  char- 
acter, and  is  nothing  more,  essentially,  than  removal  from 
one  country  to  another  is  in  this  present  life.  The  place  of 
abode  is  new,  but  the  man  is  the  same.  Resurrection  is 
rising,  not  remaining  as  we  were.  It  is  not  barely  to  enter  the 


SPRING  AN  EMBLEM  OF  RESUBIIECTION,  339 

spiritual  world,  which  is  the  destiny  of  all,  both  good  and 
evil,  but  to  rise  into  a loftier  and  diviner  state  of  soul,  such 
as  must  be  attained  in  this  life,  if  at  all.  ‘‘He  that  is  un- 
just, let  him  be  unjust  still;  and  he  that  is  filthy,  let  him  be 
filthy  still;  and  he  that  is  righteous,  let  him  be  righteous 
still;  and  he  that  is  holy,  let  him  be  holy  stilj.”  The 
avdaavaaK;  of  the  wicked,  as  Olshausen  remarks,  is  only  a 
part  of  the  ddvazoc:  de6Tepo(;,  The  resurrection,  popularly 
so  called,  like  every  other  great  fact  in  the  economy  of  the 
universe,  is  thus  a representative  occurrence.  Attaching  to 
all  mankind,  both  good  and  evil,  it  is  not  a doctrine  pecu- 
liarly of  theology,  but  one  of  the  simple  laws  of  nature; 
and  therefore  an  intimation  and  exponent  of  a truth  yet 
grander  than  itself,  and  ready  for  all  to  realize  who  will. 
When  man  disengages  himself  from  his  earthly  vesture,  and 
passes  from  the  temporal  into  eternity,  he  presents  a picture 
of  the  soul  which  detaches  itself  from  evil,  and  ascends 
into  the  high  and  lovely  life  of  Christianity.  That  the  true 
resurrection  is  the  regeneration  of  the  soul,  is  shown  by  our 
Lord’s  own  divine  words — “ I am  the  resurrection.”  Doubt- 
less, in  his  ascent  from  the  tomb,  we  have  the  type  of  man’s 
immortality ; but  this  is  not  so  much  the  doctrine  intended 
in  the  words  in  question,  as  that  resurrection  is  to  acknow- 
ledge and  follow  him  wLile  we  are  yet  on  earth. 

195.  Such  also  is  the  resurrection  which  alone  is  repre- 
sented and  foreshadowed  in  the  beautiful  phenomena  of  the 
Spring,  so  enthusiastically  pointed  to  by  preachers  of  every 
creed  and  age.  When  the  seeds  vegetate,  and  cover  the 
earth  with  leaves  and  flowers ; when  the  trees  bud,  and 
foliage  takes  the  place  of  snow  and  icicles,  the  resurrection 
that  goes  on  is  a rejuvenescence  of  life,  beauty,  vigor;  no 
dead  thing  reappears ; nothing  that  is  defaced  comes  up 
again ; there  is  no  portraiture  of  the  re-animation  of  mere 
dead  material  bodies,  only  of  the  deathlessness  and  energy 


340  THE  FIRST  and  SECOND  RESURRECTION. 

of  moral  excellence.  Nowhere  in  the  whole  scope  of  nature 
is  there  ever  seen  resurrection  of  what  is  dead,  or  emble- 
matic of  death  ; all  its  revivifying  processes  attach  to  things 
which  are  alive  and  representative  of  life.  It  is  only  where 
the  principle  and  power  of  life  have  never  been  for  one 
instant  interrupted,  that  resurrection  takes  place ; resurrec- 
tion of  that  which  has  altogether  perished  and  decomposed, 
as  the  material  body,  which  in  itself  is  neither  good  nor 
evil,  is  never  in  the  least  degree  illustrated ; and  from  this 
single  circumstance,  the  current  doctrine  of  the  resurrection, 
or  that  which  regards  it  as  a return  of  the  soul  into  the 
material  body  from  which  it  had  been  separated — the  latter 
being  transmogrified  into  a ‘‘  spiritual  body’’ — may  be  re- 
garded as  much  in  need  of  revision.  The  expectation  of 
such  return  is  in  reality  no  more  than  a varied  shape  of  the 
doctrine  of  the  old  Egyptians,  which  led  them  to  embalm 
the  corpses  of  their  dead,  to  be,  they  imagined,  in  course  of 
time  re-animated  by  the  relenting  soul.  Any  theological 
dogma  which  is  not  illustrated  by  the  Divine  economy  as  it 
works  visibly  in  the  material  creation,  may  legitimately  be 
demurred  to.  There  is  no  truth  vouchsafed  to  man  but  is 
inscribed  over  again  in  the  beautiful  volume  of  the  earth 
and  sky ; and  conversely,  the  point  where  nature  no  longer 
speaks,  is  the  point  where  truth  also  is  at  an  end.  The  test 
of  truth  is  that  nature  mirrors  it. 

196.  With  this  right  understanding  of  the  word  before 
our  eyes,  we  see  what  is  meant  by  Blessed  and  holy  is  he 
that  hath  part  in  the  first  resurrection.”  The  second  is 
simply  to  enter  the  spiritual  world,  which  all  men  do  in  due 
course;  some  to  the  ‘‘resurrection  of  life,”  some  to  the 
“ resurrection  of  condemnation but  that  which  is  “ blessed 
and  holy,”  is  the  resurrection  which  the  soul  has  already 
experienced  in  the  body.  It  is  this  “first  resurrection” 
which  is  referred  to  in  the  encouraging  and  consolatory 


NO  KESURRECTION  WITHOUT  DEATH. 


341 


verse — Precious  unto  the  Lord  is  the  death  of  his  saints.’^ 
Some  think  that  this  means  the  death  of  the  body.  Nay; 
what  God  rejoices  in,  is  the  death  of  selfishness  and  bad 
passions.  There  can  be  no  resurrection,  either  real  or  repre- 
sentative, except  contingently  on  death ; hence  it  is  said, 
that  a man  must  ‘‘  hate  his  own  life,”  and  ‘‘  except  he  lay 
down  his  life.”  “ Life”  here  denotes  that  particular,  selfish, 
temporal  love  by  which  every  man  is  animated  while  unre- 
generate, impelling  some  in  one  way,  some  in  another,  and 
which  must  be  subordinated  to  a higher  one  if  he  would 
rise.  This  death,  therefore,  does  it  behoove  us  strenuously 
and  unceasingly  to  contemplate ; and  not  only  so,  it  needs 
that,  with  the  Apostle,  we  die  daily,”  that  is,  that  we  reju- 
venize  daily,  exchanging  what  is  unlovely  in  our  affections 
for  some  diviner  attachment,  and  replacing  our  childish, 
foolish,  and  unprofitable  knowledges  with  wisdom  at  once 
comely  and  substantial.  Every  day  that  something  is  not 
effected  towards  these  two  ends,  is  a day  ill-spent.  Few, 
very  few,  are  the  truths  and  emotions  which,  however  rela- 
tively excellent,  do  not  require  to  be  replaced  by  still  supe- 
rior ones,  or  at  least  to  be  rectified  and  expanded ; and  no- 
where is  the  necessity  more  urgent  than  in  those  which  have 
reference  to  religion  and  theology.  If  the  first  and  greatest 
of  existing  evils  be  indif^rence  to  practical  religion,  want 
of  enlarged  understanding  of  spiritual  things  is  unquestion- 
ably the  second.  People  grow  up,  live  and  die,  in  the  rudi- 
mentary knowledge  of  religious  truths  communicated  to 
them  in  their  childhood,  and  think  their  little  leaf  is  all  the 
forest.  Inquire  if  they  have  read  the  last  new  novel  or 
review,  and  it  is  considered  a reproach  to  have  to  say  ‘‘  No.” 
Ask  what  new  fact  they  have  learned  in  geography,  or  other 
physical  science,  and  a reply  is  ready.  But  inquire,  even 
of  “ religious”  people,  what  new  idea  they  have  of  heaven, 
or  of  God,  or  the  human  soul,  or  the  prophecies,  and  they 
29 


342 


THEOLOGY  A PROGRESSIVE  SCIENCE. 


wonder  wliat  you  mean,  or  what  there  can  be  to  learn. 
Some  abstain  from  search  for  fear  of  their  ‘‘  faitli’’  becoming 
weakened.  Faith  in  Christ,  says  Vater,  can  be  no  hindrance 
to  critical  and  philosophical  inquiries ; otherwise  he  would 
himself  impede  the  progress  of  truth.  The  best  token  that 
genuine  rejuvenescence  of  the  soul  is  going  on  in  us,  is,  that 
the  Word  of  God  becomes  daily  a richer  mine  to  our 
intelligence. 

197.  Death  implies  a place  of  burial,  and  as  death  in 
Scripture  denotes,  on  the  one  hand,  declension  from  virtue; 
on  the  other,  escape  from  the  power  of  evil,  or  regeneration ; 
so  do  the  words  grave,  tomb,  and  sepulchre.  The  unre- 
generate man  is  not  only  dead,  but  as  truly  entombed  as  a 
corpse  beneath  the  sods.  In  the  prophets  there  are  many 
examples,  as  when  Isaiah,  speaking  of  the  rebellious,”  says 
that  ‘Hhey  remain  among  the  graves.”  Similarly,  in  the 
New  Testament,  dwelling  ‘‘among  the  tombs”  denotes  living 
in  the  shades  and  negations  of  irreligiousness.  The  “lu- 
natic” loved  to  dwell  among  the  tombs.  He  impersonates 
the  man  who  is  dead  to  spiritualities.  If  it  be  “madness” 
to  act  recklessly  in  secular  things,  surely  it  must  be  “mad- 
ness” to  forget  God.  Properly  regarded,  insanity  is  of  two 
kinds;  one  conies  of  the  brain  being  diseased,  so  that  the 
soul,  healthy  in  itself,  cannot  use  it;  this  is  insanity  com- 
monly so  called:  the  other  is  when  it  is  the  soul  that  is 
diseased,  albeit  the  brain  be  perfectly  healthy;  this  is  infi- 
delity and  irreligiousness.  The  Pharisees  of  the  human  race 
our  Lord  calls  whited  sepulchres,  because,  making  a fair 
show  on  the  outside,  within  they  are  full  of  dead  men’s 
bones.  In  the  sense  of  regeneration  or  newness  of  life,  there 
is  no  more  beautiful  instance  than  that  in  Ezekiel  xxxvii. 
12,  “Behold,  O,  my  people,  I will  open  your  graves,  and 
cause  you  to  come  up  out  of  your  graves,  and  bring  you  into 
the  land  of  Israel,  and  ye  shall  know  that  I am  the  Lord 


CONSECRATION  OF  BURIAL-PLACES. 


343 


and  I will  put  my  spirit  in  you,  and  ye  shall  live.”  St 
John  records  how  the  promise  was  fulfilled:  ‘‘I  say  unto 
you,  the  hour  is  coming,  and  now  is,  when  the  dead  shall 
hear  the  voice  of  the  Son  of  God,  and  they  that  hear  shall 
live.”  (v.  25.)  A moment’s  reflection  will  show  that  these 
words  can  in  neither  case  refer  to  the  resurrection  after  the 
death  of  the  body.  They  can  mean  nothing  else  but  the 
‘‘quickening  to  grace.”  The  raising  of  Lazarus  by  the 
Lord,  and  of  th6  widow’s  son  at  the  city  of  Nain,  were  in- 
tended as  signs  that  the  same  power  should  revive  men  who 
had  been  long  “ dead  in  trespasses  and  sins.”  It  was  because 
the  Jewish  religion  was  so  essentially  and  minutely  repre- 
sentative, or  prefigurative  of  the  Christian  religion  which 
was  to  “fulfill”  it,  that  the  Jews  were  so  desirous  of  burial 
in  the  land  of  Canaan,  the  Scriptural  symbol  of  heaven. 
Interment  in  that  country  was  emblematical  and  prefigura- 
tive of  resurrection  into  Paradise.  The  inhumation  of  the 
material  body  is  the  resurrection  of  the  spiritual,  and  where 
the  former  is  symbolically  deposited,  the  latter  symbolically 
becomes  an  inhabitant.  It  is  for  the  same  reason,  though  it 
may  be  unsuspected,  that  Christians  bury  their  dead  either 
in  or  closely  adjacent  to  their  churches,  the  representatives 
of  the  temple  not  made  with  hands.  Every  observance  and 
ceremony  of  this  nature  is  founded  on  the  relation  of  things 
physical  to  things  spiritual.  If,  then,  a man  would  vitally 
experience  what  resurrection  is,  what  it  essentially  is  to  rise 
from  the  grave,  let  him,  with  God’s  help,  “die  unto  sin.” 
That  he  will  survive  the  death  of  his  material  body,  he  may 
assure  himself,  for  it  is  not  given  him  to  choose,  but  whether 
he  will  rise  or  not,  he  himself  must  elect. 


CHAPTER  XX. 
iu<:j  u vbnes  cence.  * 

198.  More  than  once  in  previous  chapters  we  have 
spoken  of  Rejuvenescence  ; it  now  becomes  important  to 
treat  the  subject  independently  and  connectedly.  The  most 
glorious  principle  of  nature,  impressed  upon  its  every  object, 
Life  and  Death  themselves  are  only  other  names  for  Reju- 
venescence ; the  history  of  the  world  and  of  its  contents,  in 
all  their  variety  and  phases,  is  no  more  than  the  history  of 
its  operation ; the  one  great  poetic  idea  of  the  universe,  all 
phenomena  and  splendors,  spiritual  as  well  as  material,  are 
but  parts  and  elements  of  it,  illustrating  and  adorning  its 
different  modes.  Everywhere,  since  the  first  morning,  has 
youth  been  incessantly  bursting  forth,  and  creation  begin- 
ning afresh.  The  universe,  open  to  the  eye  to-day,  looks 
as  it  did  a thousand  years  ago ; the  morning  hymn  of  Mil- 
ton  does  but  tell  the  beauty  with  which  our  own  familiar 
sun  dressed  the  earliest  fields  and  gardens  of  the  world  all 
things,  says  the  apostle,  “ continue  as  they  were  from  the 
beginning  of  creation.’’  True,  there  is  continual  dismem- 
berment and  disintegration  ; the  flower  fades,  the  animal 
falls  to  dust,  but  this  is  not  death — it  is  merely  the  casting 
away  of  worn-out  vestures,  in  order  that  the  new  may  be  put 
on.  The  form,  the  idea,  the  actuality,  lives  forever;  the 


344 


* Literally  ^‘Return  to  a state  of  youth.’ 


DEATH  NOT  THE  DESTROYER  OF  LIFE. 


345 


end  always  reverts  to  the  beginning;  from  the  plant  comes 
the  fruit,  and  from  the  fruit  comes  the  seed,  which  again 
contains  the  plant  within  itself.  Look  at  that  sculptured 
pine-apple!  Nature  in  miniature;  upon  its  yellow  ripeness 
ensues  a beautiful  tufted  crown  of  leaves,  promising  and  be- 
ginning the  whole  history  over  again,  the  true  Phoenix  of 
creation.*  The  fabled  Palm  is  only  a metaphor  of  the 
world.  Turn  which  way  we  will,  we  find  no  ‘‘  killing  prin- 
ciple” in  nature,'  only  a vitalizing  and  sustaining  one. 
Throughout  its  whole  extent.  Nature  is  Life  ; in  all  its 
forms  and  modifications,  one  vast  and  infinite  Life — sub- 
ject, no  doubt,  to  the  extinction  of  particular  presentations, 
but  never  to  absolute  and  total  death,  even  in  its  least  and 
weakest  things.  Anything  that  looks  like  death  is  a token 
and  certificate  of  life  being  about  to  start  anew  and  invigo- 
rated. Every  end  is  also  a beginning.  ‘‘All  things  in  the 
world,”  says  Lynch,  “ are  striving  to  begin  as  well  as  to 
finish.”  Marriage  once  more  is  the  type  and  exponent.  So 
far,  therefore,  from  being  the  destroyer  of  life,  death,  rightly 
viewed,  is  its  nourisher  and  aliment.  A thing  does  not  pe- 
rish in  order  that  it  may  no  longer  exist,  but  that  another 
of  the  same  or  similar  kind  may  enter  fresh  and  beautiful 
upon  the  scene,  and  thus  virtually  perpetuate  the  original. 
“All  death  in  nature,”  says  Fichte,  “ is  life,  and  in  death 
appears  visibly  the  advancement  of  life.  It  is  not  death 
which  kills,  but  the  higher  life  which,  concealed  behind  the 
other,  begins  to  develop  itself.  Death  and  birth  are  but 
the  struggle  of  life  with  itself  to  attain  a higher  form.f 


* The  same  beautiful  onward  growth  appears  conspicuously  in 
several  of  the  New  Holland  genera  of  Myrtacese,  as  Melaleuca,  Me- 
trosideros,  Beaufortia,  &c. ; and  a similar  phenomenon  in  the  cones  of 
the  Larch,  from  the  apex  of  which  occasionally  extends  a leafy  shoot, 
t Destination  of  Man,  p.  127. 

p 


346  EViilRYTIIING  ALIVE  TO  THE  LIVING  MIND. 


Granted,  we  do  not  perceive  it  to  be  so  if  we  look  at  things 
merely  with  the  outward  senses — we  perceive  it  in  the  de- 
gree that  our  own  minds  are  alive,  and  apt,  from  culture 
and  sincere  and  fervent  aspiration  after  truth,  to  rejuvenize 
in  themselves.  Everything  is  alive  to  the  living  mind. 
Death  is  abundant  in  i)roportion  as  the  mind  is  dead.  To 
estimate  our  intellectual  vitality,  at  any  given  time,  we  have 
but  to  ask  ourselves.  How  much  life  are  we  conscious  of? 
We  speak,  in  ordinary  converse,  of  youth  and  age  as  distinct 
ej)ochs,  and  as  a matter  of  appearance,  correctly  so.  It  re- 
sults, however,  from  this  great  law,  that  so  far  from  being 
separate  and  successive,  they  are  cotemporaneous  and  con- 
current. Youth  does  not  cease,  and  age  begin.  Through- 
out life  their  phenomena  run  side  by  side,  revolving  each 
upon  the  other,  age  succeeding  youth,  youth  succeeding  age, 
in  the  most  varied  conditions  of  exchange,  and  often  crowd- 
ing into  the  same  region.  Everywhere  in  nature  we  see  youth 
and  senility  intermingled,  presenting  themselves  alternately, 
and  altogether  irrespective  and  independent  of  annual  birth- 
days. If  decay  attend  upon  age,  so  does  it  upon  infancy ; 
if  youth  is  a beginning,  so,  too  is  maturity.  Life  rising  out 
of  death  was  the  great  mystery’’  which  in  old  time,  sym- 
bolism delighted  to  represent  under  the  thousand  ingenious 
forms  preserved  in  mythology  and  ancient  poetry,  as  in  the 
lovely  fable  of  Cupid  and  Psyche.  Nature  was  explored  in 
her  every  realm  for  attestations  to  it,  the  results  giving  to 
religion  new  sanctity  and  illustration,  to  philosophy  new 
dignity  and  grace.  Sleep  was  beautifully  called  the  minor 
mystery  of  death since  the  seeming  suspension  of  life 
during  the  stillness  of  slumber,  is  the  pathway  to  restoration 
of  its  powers,  and  thus  a prefigurement  of  what  death  is  de- 
signed for.  Death,  like  sleep,”  says  the  illustrious  Herder, 
cools  the  fever  of  life ; gently  interrupts  its  too  uniform 
and  long-continued  movement ; heals  many  wounds  incura- 


DEATH  AH  OPERATION  OF  LIFE. 


347 


ble  before,  and  prepares  the  soul  for  a pleasurable  awaken- 
ing, for  the  enjoyment  of  a new  morning  of  youth.  As  in 
my  dreams,  my  thoughts  fly  back  to  youth — as  in  my 
dreams,  being  only  half  fettered  by  the  bodily  organs,  and 
more  concentred  in  myself,  I feel  more  free  and  active — so 
thou,  revivifying  dream  of  death,  wilt  smilingly  bring  back 
the  youth  of  my  life,  the  most  energetic  and  pleasing  mo- 
ments of  my  existence.”* 

199.  When,  then,  it  is  said  that  death  takes  things  away, 
it  is  said  wrongfully.  It  is  done  by  Life,  the  constant  aim 
of  which  is  to  obtain  a point  of  departure  for  renewed  pro- 
gress, pushing  out  of  the  way  whatever  may  obstruct.  See 
what  curious  and  striking  illustrations  are  furnished  in  the 
physiology  of  our  own  bodies ! The  teeth  of  the  child  drop 
from  its  little  gums,  that  the  teeth  of  manhood  may  take 
their  place ; the  blood,  by  its  particles,  supersedes  itself  as 
fast  as  it  is  formed ; every  molecule  of  muscle,  and  bone, 
and  brain,  is  an  ephemeron ; our  entire  fabric  is  taken  to 
pieces  and  rebuilt  some  seven  or  eight  times  before  we  leave 
it.  The  bodies  of  all  other  animals  similarly  rejuvenize 
during  the  period  between  birth  and  dissolution,  some,  in 
addition  to  the  molecular  renewal,  having  periodical  and 
most  curious  replacements  of  entire  organs.  Birds  renew 
their  plumage;  lizards  and  snakes  their  skins;  the  crab 
even  replaces  its  stomach,  forming  a new  one  every  year, 
and  casting  away  the  old.  Plants  also  rejuvenize,  exempli- 
fied in  the  annual  renewal  of  their  loaves  and  flowers.  In 
the  higher  kinds  of  vegetation  the  phenomena  are  at  once 
so  marked  and  intelligible,  as  to  have  called  forth  the  first, 
and  as  yet  the  only  treatise,  expressly  devoted  to  this  mag- 


* Outlines  of  a History  of  the  Philosophy  of  Man,  book  v., 
chap.  4. 


348 


PHYSIOLOGICAL  REJUVENESCENCE. 


nificent  science.*  Philo  beautifully  uses  them  to  illustrate 
the  “ unbounded  wisdom  of  God  f ’ ‘‘  The  wealth  of  that 
wisdom  is  as  a tree,  which  is  continually  putting  forth  new 
shoots  after  the  old  ones,  so  that  it  never  ceases  growing 
young  again,  and  being  in  the  flower  of  its  strength.’’ 

200.  As  a phenomenon  of  physiological  or  organic  life, 
Rejuvenescence  appears  under  two  great  general  modes, 
namely,  first.  Return  by  the  individual,  either  as  a whole, 
or  in  its  molecules,  to  an  earlier  condition  of  existence, 
securing  thereby  a point  of  departure  for  renewed  progress; 
secondly.  Repetition  in  a new  being,  under  the  law  of  pro- 
creation by  male  and  female,  of  the  entire  course  of  organic 
evolution.  The  first  has  for  its  object,  the  completion  of  the 
form ; the  second  has  for  its  object,  the  repetition  of  the 
form.  Rejuvenescence  in  order  to  Completion  is  exempli- 
fied in  the  growth  of  a child,  leading  it  on  to  puberty,  and 
thence  to  manhood ; that  which  has  Repetition  for  its  end, 
appears  in  the  phenomena  of  generation  and  birth.  It 
follows  that  it  is  the  power  of  Rejuvenescence  which  mainly 
distinguishes  organic  bodies  from  inorganic,  since  in  the 
latter  there  is  neither  a graduated  development  of  the  indi- 
vidual, nor  renewal  by  procreation.  Without  rejuvenescence 
there  can  be  no  organic  development,  nor  where  organs  are 
absent  can  rejuvenescence  ever  occur.  The  distinction  be- 
tween the  two  kingdoms  of  organized  beings  themselves  as 
regards  rejuvenescence,  is  that  while  in  animals  there  is  a 
perpetual  dissolution  and  rebuilding  of  the  entire  substance, 
the  devitalized  atoms  being  ejected,  plants  never  rejuvenize 


* Tlie  Phenomenon  of  Rejuvenescence  in  Nature,  especially  in 
the  life  and  development  of  Plants.  From  the  German  of  Dr.  A. 
Braun,  by  Arthur  llenfrey.  Ray  Society’s  Volume,  1853.  One  of 
the  most  important  of  modern  contributions  to  the  philosophv  ol 
Botanv. 


SLEEP. 


349 


a part  once  completed,  but  provide  for  the  stability  and 
regularity  of  the  vital  processes,  by  developing  new  parts. 
The  stem  once  formed  and  consolidated,  never  alters  in  the 
least;  the  leaves  and  flowers  when  done  with,  are  disen- 
gaged, and  absolutely  new  ones  are  unfolded  in  their  place. 

201.  Rejuvenescence  in  order  to  the  Completion  of  the 
form,  has,  accordingly,  for  its  chief  process  in  Animals,  the 
decay  and  renewal  of  the  tissues ; in  Plants,  the  unfolding 
of  new  organs.  Both  involve  a variety  of  minor  and  con- 
tributive  activities,  but  most  especially  is  this  the  case  in 
the  rejuvenescence  of  the  animal,  where  the  full  effectuation 
of  the  molecular  renewal  requires  and  is  secured  by  the 
grand  supplementary  process  of  Sleep — in  effect  a periodical 
return  of  the  animal  to  its  ante-natal  state,  beautifully  cor- 
responding with  the  resumption  of  that  state  in  lactation, 
which  is  a living  over  again  of  the  life  of  the  womb,  on  a 
higher  plane.  During  sleep,  the  inner  formative  processes 
by  which  the  body  is  preserved  act  undisturbedly  and  con- 
centratedly.  Every  one  knows  how  sweet  is  the  restoration 
derived  from  one’s  pillow  when  in  health ; more  wonderful 
even  yet  is  that  which  we  derive  when  sleep  occurs  at  the 
crisis  of  severe  diseases.  The  nocturnal  refreshment  of  the 
physical  frame  induces  a similar  restoration  of  the  spiritual. 
Relaxed  from  the  tension  in  which  it  is  held  towards  the 
outer  world  Avhile  awake,  during  sleep  the  mind  sinks  into  a 
condition  comparable  to  that  in  which  it  lay  before  con- 
sciousness commenced ; all  images  and  shapes  it  is  cognizant 
of  by  day,  either  vanish,  or  appear  only  as  reflected  pic- 
tures; unexcited  from  without,  it  “gathers  itself  up  into 
new  force,  new  comprehension  of  its  purpose,  much  that 
crossed  the  waking  thoughts,  scattered  and  entangled,  be- 
coming thereby  sifted  and  arranged.”  Hence  is  it  that  “our 
waking  thoughts  are  often  our  truest  and  finest ; and  that 
dreams  are  sometimes  eminent  and  wise ; phenomena  incom- 
30 


850 


TRUE  IDEA  OF  SPRING. 


patible  with  the  idea  that  Ave  die  down  like  grass  into  our 
organic  roots  at  night,  and  are  merely  resuscitated  as  from 
a winter  when  we  wake.  Man  is  captured  in  sleep,  not  by 
death,  but  by  his  better  nature ; to-day  runs  in  through  a 
deeper  day  to  become  the  parent  of  to-morrow,  and  he  issues 
every  morning,  bright  as  the  morning  and  of  life  size,  from 
the  peaceful  womb  of  the  cerebellum.’’  The  most  remark- 
able illustration  of  the  bearing  of  sleep  upon  rejuvenescence 
is  supplied  perhaps  in  the  chrysalis  period  of  Insect-life. 
Here  takes  place  that  grand  retreat  and  gatbering-in  of 
vital  power  which  enables  the  unsightly  grub  to  expand 
into  the  lovely,  completed  and  expressive  form  we  call  the 
Butterfly,  so  exquisite  a symbol  of  the  Spring,  Avhen  winter, 
the  grub  and  chrysalis  era  of  the  vegetable  world,  is  emerged 
from  and  superseded.  The  analogy  is  important  to  consider, 
because  of  the  common  but  mistaken  impression  that  the 
charming  green  exuberance  of  the  vernal  season  is  no  more 
than  the  work  of  the  few  days  during  which  it  appears. 
That  beautiful  display  is  in  preparation  all  the  winter,  just 
as  the  butterfly  is  in  preparation  in  the  grub  and  chrysalis ; 
Spring  merely  brings  the  concluding  steps  before  our  eyes, 
as  the  rupture  of  the  chrysalis  the  painted  Avings  of  the 
perfect  insect.  Not  a little  of  the  Spring  begins  in  the  pre- 
vious autumn,  and  even  in  the  previous  summer.  The 
rudiments  of  the  future  leaves  of  the  alder  may  be  found 
in  August;  the  leaves  and  even  the  floAver-buds  also  of  the 
lilac;  the  catkins  of  the  hazel  make  their  appearance  Avith 
the  asters  and  golden-rod;  in  the  bulbs  of  the  hyacinth,  the 
tulij),  and  the  crocus,  long  before  they  manifest  the  least 
sign  of  vegetation,  the  future  blossom  may  readily  be  dis- 
cerned. Insect-life,  as  a whole,  is  the  most  perfect  example 
we  possess  of  Rejuvenescence  having  for  its  aim  the  Com- 
pletion of  the  Individual.  Tlie  true  idea  of  AAdiat  is  so 
improperly  called  the  ‘‘metamorjfliosis”  or  “ transfonnation” 


METAMORPHOSIS  OF  INSECTS. 


351 


of  insects,  is  development  into  a perfect  state.  It  is  no  change 
of  one  creature  into  another.  The  caterpillar  contains 
within  itself  the  rudiments  of  the  future  butterfly  in  all  its 
parts ; it  becomes  the  butterfly — not,  as  commonly  supposed, 
by  a monstrous  and  supernatural  mutation — simply  by  cast- 
ing its  shin,  and  unfolding  parts  previously  concealed  and 
immature,  first  the'  limbs,  by  and  by  the  wings,  opening 
more  and  more,  till  the  idea  of  the  perfect  insect  is  attained. 
No  less  striking  and  beautiful  than  the  analogy  of  the  But- 
terfly with  the  opening  leaves  and  flowers  of  spring,  is  the 
rejuvenescence  at  that  season  of  the  Birds.  They  blossom 
in  the  Spring,  like  the  trees  and  plants,  glossy  and  tinted  in 
their  plumage,  and  like  the  plants  again  when  they  shed 
their  petals,  lose  their  peculiar  spring  and  summer  lustre 
immediately  the  process  of  hatching  is  completed.  To 
return,  however,  to  the  Butterfly.  We  have  a lesson  in  the 
insect’s  history  of  another  kind.  From  time  immemorial 
the  butterfly  has  been  the  emblem  of  the  resurrection. 
Anciently,  as  with  the  Egyptians,  we  find  it  drawn  either  in 
its  proper  form,  or  as  a lovely  female  child  with  butterfly’s 
wings.  “Employed,  subsequently,  by  the  Fathers  of  the 
Church,  the  beautiful  symbol  shone  on  their  ponderous 
pages  like  a beam  of  sunlight  falling  through  a painted 
window  on  the  gloom  of  a cloister.”  The  beauty  and  truth- 
fulness of  the  emblem  lie,  however,  in  exactly  the  opposite 
direction  to  that  ordinarily  supposed.  Not  only  is  the  usual 
idea  of  the  resurrection,  or  that  of  a decayed  body  recom- 
posed in  its  elements,  and  reunited  after  a certain  interval 
to  the  soul,  not  represented  in  the  natural  history  of  the 
insect,  but  altogether  contrary  to  it.  What  the  history  does 
teach  is  that  which  is  also  the  true  idea  of  the  resurrection. 
As  the  caterpillar  becomes  the  butterfly  by  no  supernatural 
transformation,  but  simply  by  the  casting  away  of  outward 
coverings ; so  does  man  become  an  angel,  not  by  any  imagi- 


OOZ 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  REJUVENESCENCE. 


nary  transmogrification  of  his  natural’’  body  into  a “ spir- 
itual” body,  but  by  the  latter,  which  he  always  has,  laying 
down  and  departing  from  the  former,  expanding  its  matured 
^ organs,  and  ascending  into  that  higher  and  lovelier  mode  of 
life  which  is  poetically  represented  under  the  name  of  wings. 
Only  with  such  an  understanding,  does  the  name 
properly  apply  to  the  beautiful  creature  it  denotes.  Reau- 
mur, that  great  and  good  naturalist,  when  he  discovered  the 
real  structure  of  the  caterpillar,  and  pointed  out  the  dis- 
crepancy between  the  truth  of  nature  and  the  dogma  of  the 
preachers,  was  denounced  as  an  enemy  to  revelation. 

202.  Occasionally,  but  rarely,  there  is  in  man  a resump- 
tion, when  old,  of  the  external  signs  of  youth.  Cherished 
from  the  remotest  ages,  the  idea  of  a restoration  of  youthful 
health,  and  strength,  and  bodily  shape,  by  some  beautiful 
stroke  of  magic,  is  not  altogether  remote  from  fact,  though 
the  magic  is  in  nature  rather  than  Art.  The  basis,  proba- 
bly, of  the  story  of  Medea  and  ^son ; it  figures  in  the  fables 
and  national  poetry  of  every  period  of  the  world;  its  most 
beautiful  embodiment,  the  Fountain  of  Rejuvenescence,  is 
found  in  the  tales  of  the  far  East,  in  the  romances  of  Chi- 
valry, and  in  the  Mysteries : in  the  middle  ages  it  was  the 
symbol  of  Christianity  renewing  the  moral  strength  of  the 
world  after  the  corruptions  of  pagan  Rome;  and  now  we 
have  it  in  a fine  picture  by  one  of  the  best  of  the  French 
pre-Raphaelite  school.*  The  Alchemists  thought  to  secure 
such  rejuvenescence  by  the  aid  of  the  Philosopher’s  Stone, 
which  was  not  only  to  ward  off*  sickness  and  infirmities,  but 
to  replace  men  in  the  vigor  of  early  youth.  Vincent  de 
Beauvais  attempted  to  show  that  Noah’s  having  children 


* M.  Ilaussouiller,  “La  Fontaine  de  Jouvence.”  See  the  engrav- 
ing in  tiie  “ JlluHtrated  London  News,’’  September  20tli,  1856. 


REPRODUCTION. 


353 


when  five  hundred  years  old  was  owing  to  his  possession  of 
this  precious  secret,  whereby  he  had  had  restored  to  him  the 
freshness  of  his  ancient  puberty.  Vain  expectation!  though 
man  may  certainly  please  himself  with  the  refiection  that 
he  alone  ever  steps  in  the  grateful  path.  The  lower  animals 
begin  to  decay  almost  immediately  after  the  decline  of  their 
propagative  power;  in  man,  life  is  prolonged  more  or  less 
after  virility  has  ceased,  and  now  and  then  operates  over 
again  some  of  the  most  characteristic  phenomena  of  his  ear- 
liest days.  The  cutting  of  new  teeth  in  old  age;  return  of 
the  power  of  suckling;  growth  of  hair  similar  to  that  of  the 
young,  and  several  other  such  phenomena  are  abundantly 
on  record,  as  may  be  seen  at  one  view  in  Dr.  Mehliss,  whose 
curious  work,  Ueber  Viriliseenz  und  Rejuvenescenz  thierischer 
Korper  (Leipsic,  1838),  has  raised  the  matter  into  a branch 
of  physiology.  Of  new  dentition,  for  example,  he  cites  not 
less  than  thirty  or  forty  authentic  instances,  many  of  them 
octogenarian.  For  the  appearance  of  these  phenomena  it  is 
necessary,  he  tells  us,  that  there  should  exist  complete 
energy  and  integrity  of  vegetative  life,  and  probably  also 
local  excitement. 

203.  The  second  great  form  of  physiological  Rejuvenes- 
cence, or  that  by  which  man,  and  all  other  living  creatures, 
together  with  plants,  renew  themselves  as  to  race,  is  ex- 
pressed in  the  phenomena  of  procreation. 

Like  leaves  on  trees  the  race  of  man  is  found, 

Now  green  in  youth,  now  withering  on  the  ground; 

So  generations  in  their  course  decay. 

So  flourish  these,  when  those  are  passed  away. 

Here  it  is  that  we  most  clearly  understand  that  death,  so 
called,  is  the  operation  of  Life.  The  particular  aggrega- 
tions of  material  elements,  carbon,  oxygen,  nitrogen,  and  so 
forth,  drawn  together  and  consolidated  by  the  immortal  idea 
30 


PROCREATION. 


3;i4 

of  each  plant  and  animal,  and  by  the  spiritual  body  in  man, 
break  up  and  disappear  after  awhile;  but  the  Form  remains 
with  us  still;  its  old  apparel  only  parted  with,  in  order  that 
new  may  be  put  on.  Wonderful  as  are  the  processes  of 
sustentation  and  repair  in  the  individual,  those  of  procrea- 
tion, or  the  sustentation  of  the  species,  incomparably  trans- 
cend them.  No  trifling  work  is  the  elaboration  of  a body 
which  shall  feed  and  grow,  move  and  exchange  offices  of 
friendship;  but  to  construct  one  which,  in  addition  to  all 
this,  shall  be  able  to  engender  new  beings  like  itself,  is  the 
very  acme  of  skill  and  miracle.  So  excellently  has  the  sub- 
ject been  dealt  with  by  other  hands,  so  extensive  also  is  its 
detail,  that  here  we  need  only  advert  to  it  as  one  of  the  most 
solemn  considerations  of  life,  a subject  never  to  be  approached 
without  reverence  and  awe.  The  unthinking  part  of  man- 
kind look  upon  procreation  as  no  more  than  one  of  the  com- 
mon impulses  of  nature,  and  consider  the  slightest  allusion 
to  it  improper.  Many  even  of  those  who  ought  to  know 
better,  regard  it  as  ignoble  and  degrading,  and  its  alluring 
incidents  only  as  palliative  and  reconciliatory.  There  can- 
not be  a lower  idea.  In  the  whole  range  of  delegated  offices 
there  is  none  more  honorable  and  noble  than  to  act  for  the 
Father  of  all,  as  perpetuator  of  the  objects  he  has  created 
for  his  pleasure wherefore  also  the  depth  and  fearfulness 
of  its  responsibility,  since  of  all  situations  a man  can  place 
himself  in,  that  of  Father  is  the  most  serious  and  manifold 
in  duties.  Large  indeed  should  be  the  faith  in  heavenly 
succor  of  him  who  adventures  upon  progeny.  The  same  is 
the  ground  of  the  brilliant  delights  which  enter  into  its  his- 
tory, since  outward  circumstance  is  always  made  commen- 
surate with  the  dignity  of  that  which  it  accompanies  and 
invests.  The  Beauty  which  attends  on  the  period  when 
with  the  complete  evolution  of  the  system,  the  powder  is 
attained  of  reproducing  the  species,  is  one  of  the  most  admi- 


BEAUTY  AND  THE  NUPTIAL  SEASON. 


355 


rable  phenomena  of  nature.  The  principle  is  universally 
set  forth.  See  how  the  plant,  at  its  nuptial  hour,  adorns 
itself  with  bright  flowers ! See  how  the  glow-worm  trims  its 
lamp;  how  the  butterfly  spreads  its  gallant  pinions!  In 
fishes,  birds  and  mammals,  puberty  is  again  characterized 
universally  by  the  development  of  ornaments  more  or  less 
striking,  such  as  brightly-colored  scales  and  plumage,  horns, 
manes,  and  beards,  the  last-named  enhancing  the  manly 
beauty  attained  at  this  period  in  our  own  species,  the  female 
of  which  is  even  more  largely  embellished  by  the  growth  of 
the  hair,  and  the  development  of  the  mammse,  and  of  the 
subcutaneous  tissues  of  the  body  in  general,  giving  to  the 
limbs  their  matchless  ‘‘lily  roundness.”  Not  only  are  beauty 
of  form  and  color  now  most  exquisite.  Flowers  smell  the 
sweetest  during  the  union  of  the  sperm-cell  with  the  germ- 
cell, especially  in  its  central  moments,  losing  their  fragrance 
rapidly  when  it  is  completed;  in  the  animal  kingdom,  dur- 
ing the  same  period,  sounds  are  emitted,  pleasing,  undoubt- 
edly, to  the  ears  they  are  designed  for,  and  taking  in  man, 
the  form  of  poetry  and  music.  The  ballad  “to  his  mistress’ 
eyebrow”  of  the  lover  is  the  exact  analogue  of  the  song  of 
the  bird,  and  the  chirp  of  the  grasshopper  and  cicada.* 
That  the  song  of  birds  has  immediate  reference  to  their  loves, 
is  generally  understood.  Like  the  beauty  of  their  plumage, 
it  rises  to  its  highest  degree  during  the  pairing  season,  and 
is  lost  at  the  time  of  moulting.  All  our  resident  birds  that 
renew  their  song  in  the  autumn,  probably  have  broods  at 
that  time;  the  thrush,  and  the  blackbird,  which  are  heard 
frr)m  the  middle  of  January  to  October,  generally  have  two 
broods  in  the  course  of  the  season,  and  not  infrequently 


* Abridged,  in  part,  from  Dr.  Laycock.  British  and  Foreign 
Medico-Chiriirgical  Review,  July,  1855. 


356  REPRODUCTION  AN  EMBLEM  OF  ETERNITY. 

three.  But  it  is  not  merely  a pairing  cry,  being  continued 
till  the  young  birds  break  the  shell,  and  in  many  cases  till 
they  are  able  to  fly.  Probably  it  produces  general  excite- 
ment in  the  female  bird,  while  sitting,  so  as  to  increase  the 
needful  warmth,  and  a power  of  more  energetic  performance 
by  both  parents  of  the  various  duties  of  the  nest.  We  all 
know  that  there  are  sounds,  especially  from  those  we  love, 
which  make  the  heart  beat,  and  the  bosom  thrill,  and  the 
whole  body  glow,  inspiring  us  magically  and  beautifully, 
and  doubtless  it  is  the  same  with  the  feathered  dwellers  in 
the  trees. 

204.  Holding  this  sublime  powder  of  self-renewal  as  a part 
of  its  very  nature,  every  animal,  bird  and  insect,  every  tree 
and  herb,  down  to  the  humblest  moss,  is  in  its  procreant  ca- 
pacity an  emblem  and  prefigurement  of  Eternity.  Forever 
rolling  onwards,  the  truest  and  grandest  idea  of  the  Divine 
life  is  unfolded  to  us  in  the  phenomena  of  reproduction. 
Hence  that  beautiful  custom  of  the  ancients,  of  placing 
seeds  in  the  hands  of  the  dead,  and  in  their  tombs  and  sar- 
cophagi. They  perceived  that  the  renovation  of  a plant,  by 
its  seeds,  year  by  year,  and  from  age  to  age,  unchanged  in 
the  least  of  its  essential  characters,  is  a picture  in  little  of 
immortality.  The  rites  of  religion  always  have  reference  to 
the  theory ; wEerever  religion  has  existed,  the  offices  of  the 
living  to  the  dead  have  invariably  formed  a part  of  them ; 
and  as  all  religious  rites  are  of  necessity  symbolical,  their 
beauty  and  intelligibleness  show  the  quality  of  the  faith 
which  employs  them.  The  custom  alluded  to  thus  testifies 
in  itself  to  the  antiquity  of  man’s  persuasion  that  he  is  to 
live  forever.*  With  mankind,  elevation  to  capacity  for  the 


* The  early  Christijins  also  put  seeds  in  the  cofRns  of  the  dead, 
but  in  their  ease  it  was  in  acknowledgment  of  the  imagery  of  St. 


THE  POEM  OF  GEOLOGY. 


357 


privileges  and  rewards  of  procreation  is  the  effulgent  Aurora 
of  existence.  Youth  begins  over  again,  on  a higher  and 
more  beautiful  plane ; whatever  talents  there  may  be  in  the 
soul,  now  they  make  their  appearance.  Early  or  late, 
whenever  it  may  be  first  felt,  love,  the  high-priest  of  procre- 
ation, always  leads  the  Avay  to  rejuvenescence  of  our  entire 
nature;  no  pleasures  are  so  sincere  and  so  enduring  as  those 
which  come  late  in  life  through  renewal  of  one’s  youth  un- 
der the  sweet  agency  of  a happily-placed  affection,  nor  are 
any  so  thankfully  enjoyed. 

205.  The  rejuvenescence  which  the  entire  organic  garment 
of  the  earth  has  undergone,  and  will  not  improbably  un- 
dergo again,  is  the  poem  of  Geology.  This  rejuvenescence 
consists  in  the  development  of  successive  suites  of  animals 
and  plants ; enduring,  as  to  their  species,  for  incalculable 
ages,  and  then  disappearing,  or  nearly  so,  to  make  way  for 
newer  and  higher  kinds,  to  endure  for  as  long,  and  in  turn 
be  themselves  superseded.  Four  times,  at  least,  says  Lyell, 
do  these  changes  take  place  in  the  course  of  the  tertiary  era, 
and  to  an  extent  which  leaves  hardly  a species  of  the  first 
period  e:^tant  among  the  species  now  living.  This  is  not  in- 
consistent with  the  previously  noticed  kinds  of  rejuvene- 
scence. It  is  rejuvenescence  of  organic  nature  in  the  mass, 
the  particular  genera  and  species  being  but  subordinate  in- 
cidents in  the  great  onward  and  upward  current  of  terrestrial 
Life.  ‘‘  Newer  and  higher  kinds”  is  not  to  be  understood  as 
implying  that  the  new  appearances  are  all  of  higher  grade. 
“ Geology  affords  no  ground  whatever  for  the  hypothesis  of  a 
regular  succession  of  creatures,  beginning  with  the  simples^ 
forms  in  the  older  strata,  and  ascending  to  more  complicatet 


Paul.  See  an  interesting  article  on  the  subject  in  HookePs  ^‘Com 
panion  to  the  Botanical  Magazine,’’  vol.  2,  j).  298. 


358  PROGRESS  A FACT  OF  NATURAL  HISTORY. 


in  the  later  formations.  The  earliest  forms  of  life  known  to 
geology  are  not  of  the  lowest  grade  of  organization  ; neither 
are  the  earliest  forms  of  any  of  the  classes  whicli  subsequently 
appear,  the  simplest  of  their  kind.”  It  is  in  the  aggregate 
of  forms,  large  and  small,  higher  and  lower,  that  the  pro- 
gressive improvement  is  shown,  and  this  is  one  of  the 
proudest  facts  of  natural  history.  It  is  proper  to  remark, 
however,  that  there  is  a difference  in  this  respect,  as  regards 
plant  and  animal  remains.  While  the  vegetable  kingdom 
has  always  had  representatives  of  highest  as  well  as  of  low- 
est forms;  in  the  animal  fossils  of  the  earlier  ages,  there  are, 
on  the  other  hand,  no  vertebrates.  But  this  difference,  as 
Alphonse  De  Candolle  remarks,  “ need  not  excite  much  as- 
tonishment, when  we  think  of  the  vast  distance  which 
separates  the  inferior  and  the  superior  animals,  and  the 
comparatively  homogeneous  character  of  the  great  classes 
of  vegetables.”  Neither  does  geology  give  any  countenance 
to  the  idea  of  progressive  development,”  in  the  sense  of 
transmutation  of  one  species  into  another.  We  mention 
this  because  of  the  importance  of  distinguishing  the  idea  in 
question  from  that  of  gradual  improvement  as  a character- 
istic of  successive  creations.  It  is  a very  different  thing  for 
an  organism  to  improve  into  one  of  higher  nature,  by  eleva- 
tion of  its  own  qualities  and  powers,  and  for  that  organism 
to  cease  altogether,  and  be  replaced  by  a superior  one.  The 
changes  in  the  plants  and  animals  of  our  earth,  as  regards 
its  successive  periods,  have  uniformly  been  wrought  in  the 
latter  way.  The  evidence  of  it  is  plain  and  abundant; 
whereas  there  is  none  whatever  to  support  the  hypothesis  of 
the  superiority  having  resulted  from  change  for  the  better 
of  earlier  individuals.  That  such  improvement  in  the  suc- 
cessive sets  of  organized  beings  lias  been  made,  and  is  visible 
to  us,  is  a strong  proof  of  the  existence  and  the  activity  of 
God;  ‘‘improvement”  of  course  being  understood,  when 


FLOWERING  PLANTS  AND  HUMANITY. 


359 


predicated  of  the  Divine  work,  not  as  a coming  forth  of 
results  of  experience  in  creating,  but  simply  as  a term  de- 
noting that  Divine  wisdom  saw  fit  to  disclose  less  elabo- 
rate forms  in  the  first  place,  and  more  elaborate  ones 
subsequently.  The  halting  of  nature  at  given  periods  in 
the  world’s  history,  and  in  the  intervals  between  one  set  of 
species  and  another,  producing  (as  at  present)  only  the  like, 
is  but  the  same  phenomenon,  on  a grand  scale,  as  that  of 
the  repetition  of  its  leaves  by  a plant,  perhaps  hundreds  of 
times,  before  the  development  advances  to  the  stage  of  flow- 
ers. Looking  at  the  world  as  a grand  scene  of  organic  evo- 
lution, every  new  step  in  its  rejuvenescence  bringing  it  nearer 
and  nearer  towards  completion,  we  cannot  but  recognize  how 
beautiful  an  image  of  it,  in  little,  is  presented  in  a youthful 
Tree,  with  its  successive  sets  of  leaves,  more  and  more  per- 
fect and  abundant  in  each  new  unfolding  (so  well  shown, 
for  example,  in  young  sycamores),  the  last  and  fairest  era 
being,  in  the  one  case,  Man  and  the  magnificent  nature  co- 
temporary with  him;  in  the  other.  Blossoms  and  Fruit. 
Blossoms  and  humanity  are  ideas  which  invariably  go  to- 
gether ; the  pre-Adamite  plants  were  almost  without  excep- 
tion flowerless;  fossil  bees  do  not  occur  till  the  period  of  the 
earth’s  preparation  as  a home  for  human  beings.  “The 
first  bee,”  says  the  late  talented  and  lamented  author  of  The 
Testimony  of  the  Rocks,  “ makes  its  appearance  in  the  am- 
ber of  the  Eocene,  locked  up  hermetically  in  its  gem-like 
tomb — an  embalmed  corpse  in  a crystal  coffin — along  with 
fragments  of  flower-bearing  herbs  and  trees.  The  first  of 
the  Bombycidse  too — insects  that  may  be  seen  suspended 
over  flowers  by  the  scarcely  visible  vibrations  of  their  wings, 
and  sucking  the  honied  juices  by  means  of  their  long  slen- 
der trunks — also  appear  in  the  amber,  associated  with 
moths,  butterflies,  and  a few  caterpillars.  Bees  and  butter- 
flies are  present  in  increased  proportions  in  the  latter  terti- 


360 


THE  rosace;e. 


ary  deposits ; but  not  until  that  terminal  creation  to  which 
we  ourselves  belong  was  ushered  on  the  scene,  did  tliey  re^ 
ceive  their  fullest  development.”  Examining  the  curious 
and  beautiful  relics  to  wliich  Miller  alludes,  how  striking 
appears  the  contrast  between  the  tombs  of  these  ancient  and 
inconsiderable  insects  and  those  which  tlie  dead  receive  at 
our  own  hands ! Instead  of  the  gloom  which  surrounds  the 
last  habitations  of  mankind,  here  is  brightness ; instead  of 
being  loathsome  and  j)ainful  to  look  upon,  here  is  something 
to  admire  and  covet.  How  insignificant  and  bungling  seem 
the  best  efforts  of  Art  to  embalm  and  preserve  the  corpse  of 
a departed  friend,  compared  with  this  simple  and  elegant 
method  of  ^^ature,  so  profound  and  perfect  even  in  what 
may  appear  most  fanciful  and  trifling  in  her  works ! 

206.  Not  only  were  the  species  new,  in  the  successive  re- 
juvenizings  of  the  earth’s  surface,  but  in  many  instances, 
the  entire  families.  Eosaceous  plants,  for  example,  do  not 
belong  to  the  earlier  periods  of  the  world’s  history.  Hence 
may  we  infer  the  higher  nature  of  their  correspondence  in 
regard  to  the  spiritual  principles  of  which  they  are  out- 
births  and  representatives,  a presumption  already  afforded 
in  the  apple — a leading  member  of  this  tribe — being  the 
most  perfect  realization  of  a fruit,  whether  regarded  as  to 
its  botanical  structure,  or  its  uses.  In  the  same  generous 
family  are  comprised  the  almond,  the  strawberry,  and  the 
medlar;  the  plum,  the  peach,  the  nectarine,  the  apricot, 
“ shining  in  sweet  brightness  of  golden  velvet,”  together 
with  innumerable  charming  flowers,  every  one  of  them, 
without  doubt,  of  a fine  spiritual  origin  and  significance. 
That  these  plants  were  not  placed  upon  the  earth  until  the 
period  of  its  occupancy  by  man,  because  he  alone  could  es- 
teem their  produce,  and  that  they  were  specially  destined 
for  human  nourishment  and  satisfaction,  may  certainly  be 
assumed  as  the  reason  of  their  late  bestowal.  Doubtless, 


THE  FERNS. 


3(iJ 


there  is  an  exact  relation  between  the  races  of  animals  and 
plants,  and  the  epochs  at  which  they  have  been  placed  upon 
the  earth ; since  the  whole  matter  of  the  succession  of  organ- 
ized beings  is  the  realization  of  an  infinitely  wise  plan — 
whence,  also,  the  impossibility  of  attaining  grand  and  accu- 
rate ideas  of  nature  without  the  aid  of  geology ; — the  pro- 
founder reason  lies,  however,  in  the  correspondence  of  nature 
and  the  soul,  the  order  in  which,  of  growth  and  efflorescence, 
is  in  every  point  the  same.  Quite  unlike  the  Rosacese  are 
the  Ferns.  In  these,  so  far  from  a comparatively  recent 
family,  we  have  the  inheritors  of  one  of  the  most  ancient  and 
noble  titles  in  vegetable  peerage.  Glorious  in  all  periods  of 
the  world’s  history,  while  the  leaves  and  branches  of  its  gene- 
alogical tree  are  green  and  vigorous  with  rills  of  current  life, 
its  roots  strike  deep  into  the  remotest  records  of  the  past. 
Honorable  in  the  olden  time,  beautiful  to-day,  the  Ferns  are 
the  beau-ideal  of  a patrician  family.  Their  value  is  com- 
mensurate with  their  charms.  Like  the  Rosetta  stone,  they 
speak  at  once  a familiar  language  and  a primaeval,  helping 
thereby  to  interpret  the  vast  and  sacred  mysteries  of  extin- 
guished ages.  Less  interesting,  only  because  exotices  of 
small  numbers  and  variety,  are  those  other  curious  relics  of 
antiquity,  the  Cycadeae.  Memorials  of  a class  of  plants 
whose  day  is  past,  they  seem  to  linger  with  us  not  so  much 
for  themselves  as  to  “ make  former  times  shake  hands  with 
latter.” 

207.  Let  us  pass  on  to  the  renewals  that  pertain  to  the 
Spiritual  degree  of  life.  In  the  changes  of  our  feelings  we 
have  rejuvenescences  quite  as  beautiful  as  those  of  nature. 
The  decay  and  retrogression  which  we  see  in  autumn  among 
the  plants,  providing  the  means  of  a charming  palingenesis 
in  the  spring,  is  not  more  regular  and  universal  than  are  the 
declensions  we  are  subject  to  in  ourselves;  nor  does  nature 
rebound  more  freely  and  improved.  Whenever  there  is  a 
31  Q 


362 


PLEASURES  OF  LITERARY  OLD  AGE. 


return  of  the  heart  from  unsatisfying,  selfish,  or  ignoble  pur- 
suits, to  a taste  for  the  pure  and  uncloying  charms  of  virtue 
and  nature,  there  we  have  the  restoration  of  our  youth; 
wherever  there  is  advance  into  new  and  delicious  fields  of 
thought  and  feeling,  under  the  influence  of  new  scenes,  or 
the  advent  of  new  friends,  or  the  passing  away  of  what  is 
painful,  or  distasteful,  life  starts  anew  in  all  its  plenitude  of 
powers  and  sentiment.  How  charmingly  does  D’ Israeli 
describe  the  rejuvenescence  in  old  age,  of  well-cultivated 
literary  taste!  ‘‘The  steps  of  time  are  retraced,  and  we 
resume  the  possessions  we  seemed  to  have  lost.  We  open 
the  poets  who  mad^  us  enthusiasts,  and  the  philosophers 
who  taught  us  to  think,  with  a new  source  of  feeling  acquired 
by  our  own  experience.  Adam  Smith  confessed  his  satisfac- 
tion at  this  pleasure  to  Dugald  Stewart,  while  reperusing 
with  the  enthusiasm  of  a student,  the  tragic  poets  of  ancient 
Greece.  The  calm,  philosophic  Hume  found  death  only 
could  interrupt  the  keen  pleasure  he  was  again  receiving 
from  Lucian.  ‘Happily,’  said  this  johilosopher,  ‘on  retir- 
ing from  the  world,  I found  my  taste  for  reading  return 
with  even  greater  avidity.’  Lord  Woodhouselee  found  the 
composing  anew  his  Lectures  on  History  so  fascinating  in 
the  last  period  of  his  life,  that  it  rewarded  him,  Alison  in- 
forms us,  with  ‘ that  peculiar  delight  which  has  been  often 
observed  in  the  later  years  of  literary  men,  the  delight  of 
returning  to  the  studies  of  their  youth,  and  of  feeling  under 
the  snows  of  age  the  cheerful  memories  of  their  Spring.’  In 
the  solitude  and  night  of  human  life,  is  discovered  that  un- 
regarded kindness  of  nature  which  has  given  flowers  that 
only  open  in  the  evening,  and  bloom  through  the  night 
season.”*  As  morning  and  sunshine  come  back  in  the  Hes- 


* “The  Literary  Character,’’ chap.  xx.  See  also  an  original  and 
beautiful  “Account  of  the  state  of  the  body  and  mind  in  old  age, in 


NEW  DOCTRINES  AND  OLD. 


363 


peris,  the  evening  primrose,  and  the  night-flowering  cereus, 
so  do  fancy  and  imagination  rejuvenize  with  the  man  of 
taste.* 

208.  There  is  abundant  illustration  of  this  great  law  also 
in  civil,  scientific,  and  literary  history,  especially  the  last; 
and  it  is  worthy  of  observation  that  the  precursor  of  a new 
era  is  always  one  who  refuses  to  follow  the  slavishness,  ex- 
travagances, and  caprices  of  exhausted  invention,  and 
returns  to  the  freedom,  simplicity,  and  integrity  of  nature. 
This  is  why  men  of  true  genius,  who  illumine  the  world  with 
something  new  and  glorious,  are  always  accused  of  ‘‘violat- 
ing the  rules,’’  ^.  e.,  refusing  to  dwell  among  the  tombs. 
What  shallow-minded  bigots  call  “heresy”  and  “hetero- 
doxy” is  often  nothing  more  than  the  rejuvenescence  of  a 
devout  and  healthy  soul,  too  far  elevated  above  themselves 
ever  to  care  for  their  censure  and  wrath.  The  great  Syden- 
ham, with  whom  the  science  of  medicine  rejuvenized,  as  it 
did  with  Harvey  and  Hunter,  was  conspired  against  with 
intent  to  expel  him  from  his  College,  as  “guilty  of  medical 
heresy.”  Death,  in  its  blindness,  always  thinks  that  its  con- 
trary, or  Life,  is  the  dead  condition;  as  evil  always  pities 
the  good,  and  would  fain  persuade  us  that  itself  is  the  sum- 


the  Medical  Inquiries  and  Observations  of  that  most  interesting 
writer,  Dr.  Rush.  Volume  2.  (Philadelphia,  1793.) 

* The  number  and  variety  of  the  flowers  which  expand,  or  only 
become  fragrant  towards  evening,  show  how  deeply  seated  is  this 
beautiful  correspondence.  Besides  the  familiar  species  above  men- 
tioned, there  are  the  Marvel  of  Peru,  the  tuberose,  several  species 
of  the  Germanicese,  as  Pelargonium  triste;  several  of  the  Caryo- 
phyllese,  as  Silene  noctiflora  and  vespertina,  and  Dianthus  pomeri- 
danus ; many  tropical  Convolvulacese,  as  Ipomsea  bona-nox ; additional 
Cruciferje,  as  Cheiranthus  sinuatus ; together  with  various  Orchidefe, 
Malvaceae,  and  Thymelese.  Bartonia  ornata,  and  Barringtonia  spe- 
ciosa  are  also  beautiful  congeners. 


364 


REVIVALS. 


mum  bonum.  When  another  kind  of  rejuvenescence  was 
transpiring  under  the  genius  of  Lord  Bacon,  Sir  Thomas 
Bodley  wrote  to  him  remonstrating  on  his  “new  mode  of 
philosophizing.”  New  doctrines  always  displease  the  small 
and  stagnant-souled,  who  may  be  known  by  their  having 
nailed  themselves  to  given  opinions,  and  considering  novel- 
ties vicious  and  illegal.  Given  to  fancying  that  the  world 
has  been  losing  wisdom  instead  of  gaining  it,  since  the  pe- 
riod when  they  contracted  their  views,  they  must  work  by 
precedent,  or  not  at  all,  and  hence  are  never  anything  but 
mimics.  Not  so  the  men  of  life  and  power.  “The  great 
men  never  know  how  or  why  they  do  things.  They  have 
no  rules,  cannot  comprehend  the  nature  of  rules.  The  mo- 
ment any  man  begins  to  talk  about  rules,  in  whatsoever  art, 
you  may  know  him  for  a second-rate  man;  and  if  he  talk 
much  about  them,  he  is  a third-rate.”  As  Goethe  said,  all 
great  men  produce  their  works  as  women  do  pretty  children, 
without  either  thinking  about  it,  or  knowing  how  it  is  done. 
All  great  epochs  are  epochs  of  resurrection.  Not  one  of  our 
modern  institutions  is  purely  an  establishment  of  To-day. 
That  which  is,  has  already  been,  only  under  another  and 
cruder  form.  The  mode  may  be  different,  but  the  principle 
is  the  same;  the  truths  we  delight  in  as  our  own,  were  plea- 
sures to  our  forefathers;  if  we  do  not  recognize  them  in  our 
readings  in  history,  it  is  because  the  ages  in  their  spiral  rise 
have  lifted  them  to  a higher  level,  as  a building  becomes 
different  when  we  are  close  beside  it,  from  what  it  appears 
while  in  the  distance.  Ideas  never  die.  Out  of  fashion  for 
awhile;  lost,  perhaps,  for  generations,  they  bide  their  time, 
then  revive,  as  Ovid  says,  in  nova  corpora  midata,  “ changed 
into  new  bodies.”  No  fragment  of  truth  has  ever  been 
really  lost.  Immortal  as  its  origin,  every  particle  is  sure  to 
rise  again,  its  resurrection  the  result  of  its  immortality.  All 
the  great  “Revivals”  of  the  present  age  partake  of  this 


THE  GOLDEN  AGE. 


36 


character,  and  result  from  this  mighty  la\v>  Ijet  us  be 
careful  then  how  we  ridicule  even  the  least  of  them.  Resus- 
citations can  only  happen  where  there  is  life;  the  absurdity 
may  prove  to  be  in  ourselves,  rather  than  in  the  things. 
What  the  many  are,  such  is  the  individual.  The  parallel 
between  the  soul  of  man  and  that  of  society  is  exact. 
“Every  man,’’  says  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  “is  not  only  him- 
self; there  have  been  many  Diogeneses,  and  many  Timons, 
though  but  few  of  the  name;  men  are  lived  over  again;  the 
world  is  now  as  it  was  in  ages  past;  there  was  none  then, 
but  there  has  been  some  one  since  that  parallels  him,  and  is, 
as  it  were,  his  revived  self.”  We  often  cast  our  eyes  towards 
the  future.  If  we  would  speculate  on  it  rightly,  we  must 
first  comprehend  the  present,  and  that  is  best  done  by  con- 
templating the  past.  True,  in  our  retrospect  we  seem  to  see 
little  more  than  Destruction ; but  in  the  eyes  of  the  natu- 
ralist this  indicates  Renewal,  transition  into  a new,  up- 
growing  Time.  Not  a few  of  our  greatest  riddles  have  their 
solutions  in  ancient  history  ; yea,  even  in  the  fables  of  my- 
thology; for  mythology  is  not,  as  foolish  people  fancy,  pro- 
fane romance,  and  nothing  more,  but  sound  and  living 
prophecy,  a sort  of  secular  inspiration  suited  to  the  times  to 
which  it  was  given,  and  intended  to  receive  fulfillment  in 
later  days.  We  talk  of  the  golden  age  as  gone.  Not  so; 
the  golden  age  is  both  with  us,  and  to  come. 

209.  The  highest  rejuvenescence  of  all  is  man’s  return  to 
youth  in  heaven.  Some  people  think,  weakly,  that  “ death 
is  the  only  reality  in  life ; happier  and  rightlier-minded  are 
those  who  see  and  feel  that  Life  is  the  true  reality  in  death.” 
Why,  then,  call  it  death  ? and  why  mourn  and  weep  for 
those  who  return  to  the  spring-time  of  existence?  Why 
complain  that  we  ourselves  seem  to  be  so  soon  taken  from 
diis  land  of  tombs,  and  replaced  in  the  golden  country  of 
our  pristine  hopes  and  imaginings? 

81 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


HEALTH  AND  DISEASE— ^RATION ALE  OF  MIRACLES, 

210.  Intimately  allied  with  the  idea  of  Rejuvenescence, 
is  that  of  Health,  the  synonyme  of  Life,  the  delicious 
Bp  ring  of  all  animal  enjoyment,  and  the  finest  light  whereby 
both  to  think  and  to  love.  Without  health,  the  larger  part 
of  our  time  is  at  once  wretched  and  unprofitable.  Sickness, 
which,  in  its  intenser  degree,  is  disease,  turns  existence  from 
a blessing  into  misery;  it  makes  us  “go  mourning  all  the 
day  long,’^  and  if  not  checked  in  its  inroads,  soon  ends  in 
the  death  which  it  foretells.  “ The  excellences  of  the  body,” 
says  old  Charron,  “ are  health,  beauty,  sprightliness,  agility, 
vigor,  dexterity,  gracefulness  in  motion  and  behaviour. 
But  Health  is  infinitely  before  all.  Health  is  the  love- 
liest,  the  most  desirable,  the  richest  present  in  the  power  of 
nature  to  confer.  One  thing  only  is  more  valuable,  and 
that  is  Probity.”  Vigorous  health  is  the  chief  secret  of 
Good  Temper.  Fretfulness,  petulance,  irritability,  come 
oftener  of  bodily  ailments  than  of  natural  unloveliness  of 
disposition,  as  proved  by  the  change  which  supervenes  with 
relief.  No  one  of  any  considerateness  will  ever  deal  harshly 
where  such  states  of  feeling  are  developed  from  such  a 
cause,  though  none  are  more- likely  to  be  betrayed  into  im- 
patience with  them  than  the  hearty  and  robust,  who  having 
no  experience  of  the  aggravations  of  physical  pain,  deem 
that  moral  offeiuies  can  liave  no  other  than  a moral  origin. 
As  with  tlie  individual,  so  with  Communities.  Study  the 


MENTAL  DISEASE. 


367 


temper  of  the  people  who  live  in  marshy  districts,  of  those 
who  encounter  an  annual  tropical  fever,  or  who  are  subject 
to  goitre,  and  contrast  them  with  the  dispositions  of  the 
dwellers  on  mountains,  and  in  dry  prairies  ; what  selfishness, 
apathy,  and  discontent  we  find  in  the  former  class ; what 
kindliness,  cheerfulness,  and  hospitality  in  the  other!  A 
curious  parallel  might  be  instituted  between  Health  and 
Money.  Health  is  the  less  envied,  but  the  more  largely 
and  thoroughly  enjoyed ; money  is  exactly  the  reverse,  or  a 
thousand  times  less  enjoyed  than  it  is  envied.  The  superi- 
ority of  Health  becomes  evident,  nevertheless,  when  we 
reflect  that  the  poorest  man  would  not  part  with  his  health 
for  money,  whereas  the  invalided  rich  would  willingly  buy 
health. 

211.  True  of  the  body,  all  this  is  even  more  true  of  the 
soul,  which  has  likewise  its  health  and  its  ailments ; and  in 
no  less  intimate  connection  with  its  vitality,  and  happiness, 
and  death.  Far  more  emphatically  does  the  ancient  pro- 
verb apply  to  the  soul  than  to  the  body — 

Non  est  vivere,  sed  voter vita. 

Let  no  man  deceive  himself,’’  say  the  incomparable  Pe- 
trarch, by  thinking  that  the  contagions  of  the  soul  are  less 
than  those  of  the  body.  They  are  yet  greater ; they  sink 
deeper,  and  creep  on  more  unsuspectedly.”*  To  talk  either 
of  life  or  health,  whether  of  soul  or  of  body,  is  thus  vir- 
tually to  talk  of  the  other ; and  the  same  of  their  negations, 
or  death  and  disease.  Spiritual  disease  is  not  to  be  con- 
founded, however,  with  ‘‘  mental  disease,”  or  insanity,  lunacy, 
idiotcy,  dementia,  &c.,  in  their  various  kinds.  Not  one  of 


* De  Vita  Solitaria,  1.  3,  iv..  Opera,  p.  233.  One  of  the  best 
portions  of  what  Coleridge  so  well  calls  ^Hhe  inestimable  Latin 
writings  of  Petrarch.’’ 


368 


SPIRITUAL  DISEASE. 


these  conditions  implies,  necessarily,  a diseased  soul,  seeing 
that  they  may  and  do  most  frequently  come  of  mere  disease 
of  its  material  instrument,  the  brain.  “ Circumstances  not 
only  environ  essentials,  but  alter  their  seemings.  Brains 
may  be  born  into  inconvenient  cases.  Good  human  minds, 
veritable  immortal  children,  may  be  born  into  idiot  brains, 
which  will  represent  them  badly,  as  a poor  gift  of  speech 
may  choke  the  utterance  of  a rich  heart.’’*  Spiritual  dis- 
ease is  where  the  brain  itself  is  healthy,  but  its  owner  and 
master  distempered.  Spiritually,  we  are  well  when  we  feel 
ourselves  diligent  in  the  pursuit  of  intelligence,  and  have 
a conscience  void  of  offence  toward  God  and  man,”  when 
we  are  earnest  to  keep  God’s  law,  and  thence  tranquil,  and 
sensitive  to  whatever  is  beautiful ; we  are  sick  when  these 
conditions  are  absent  or  reversed.  The  correspondence  of 
physical  disease  with  spiritual  is  most  exact.  By  reason  of 
it  we  speak  of  a healthy  tone  of  feeling,  a morbid  imagina- 
tion, sickly  sentimentality,  ill-nature,  ill-temper;  also  of 
being  sick  at  heart,  ill  at  ease,  cured  of  bad  habits.  Pru- 
dent, well-timed  words,  Homer  calls  healthy.  (II. 

viii.  524.)  From  the  Latin  sanus  and  sanitas,  we  have  the 
equivalent  expressions,  sanitary,  sanatory,  sanative,  sane, 
insane,  sanity,  insanity;  the  three  first  applied  to  bodily,  the 


^ In  ascribing  lunacy,  insanity,  &c.  to  diseased  hrain,  we  must  take 
care  not  to  do  so  unreservedly.  Cases  are  not  infrequently  met  with 
of  patients  who  have  been  mad  for  years,  and  yet  whose  brains,  on 
dissection  after  death,  present  no  appearances  different  from  those 
of  persons  wlio  have  died  in  all  the  vigor  of  sound  intellect.  On 
tlie  other  hand,  all  morbid  appearances  of  the  brain  (except  those 
wlTuh  SJipervene  upon  general  paralysis)  are  found  as  frequently  in 
])ersons  who  Iiave  died  sane  as  in  those  who  have  died  mad.  The 
sudden  cures  of  tlie  mad,  tlieir  temporary  restorations,  and  many 
other  facts  lead  to  the  belief  that  insanity  may  probably  be  a disease 
of  tlie  blood. 


ORIGIN  OF  DISEASE. 


369 


others  to  intellectual  health.  Sound,  which  is  the  same  word 
as  sanus,  is  applied  to  a sound  judgment/’  as  well  as  to  a 
“ sound  constitution.” 

212.  It  is  because  of  the  spiritual  diseases  that  the  physi- 
cal ones  exist ; or  rather,  they  are  both  of  them  outbirths 
of  the  same  infernal  cause,  namely,  the  circumstances  and 
principles  of  hell.  Whatever  is  good,  beautiful,  and  enjoy- 
able upon  earth,  is  by  derivation  from  heaven,  or  the  bright 
and  angelic  portion  of  the  spiritual  world;  whatever  is  evil, 
offensive,  and  ugly,  comes,  similarly,  from  the  regions  of 
darkness.  Disease  belongs  to  the  dark  catalogue.  In  its 
moral  forms,  it  is  directly  inseminated  and  sustained  by  evil 
spirits — the  door  to  their  agency  being  the  “ fallen  nature  ” 
inherited  from  our  parents  and  ancestors ; for,  that  man  is 
exposed  to  the  incessant,  though  secret  and  silent  seductions 
of  evil  spirits,  is  no  less  certain  than  that  he  is  blessed  by 
the  ministration  of  angels ; — its  physical  forms  appear 
among  us,  because  of  the  universal  and  immutable  ordi- 
nance that  all  things  and  conditions  spiritual,  shall  issue 
into  material  representatives.  Proximately,  these  latter  are 
induced  by  infraction  of  the  laws  of  the  physical  world. 
Though  all  such  afflictions  are  referable,  ultimately,  to  the 
providence  of  God,  it  is  no  direct  supernatural  influence 
that  casts  a man  into  rheumatism  or  fever,  but  carelessness 
of  something  purely  natural.  This  is  the  immediate  cause 
of  physical  suffering ; else  man  would  not  be  the  free  agent 
that  he  is,  in  matters  of  health  and  self-protection.  Disease, 
accordingly,  is  no  part  of  the  proper  nature  of  things,  as 
death  is,  but  a declension  from  it.  Disease  destroys,  but 
death  is  sanative.  Disease  is  to  the  material  body  what  sin 
is  to  the  soul ; a condition  it  is  liable  to,  but  so  far  as  it  is 
given  to  man  to  judge,  apparently  by  no  means  inevitable. 
A distinction  is  clearly  drawn  in  Scripture  between  those 
who  kept  not  their  first  estate,”  and  those  whom  the  sense 

Q 


370  CORRUPTION  OF  NATURE  BY  THE  FALL 


of  the  passage  implies  to  have  retained  it.  Decay  is  natural, 
because  nature  is  finite,  such  decay  always  having  reference 
to  Ilejuvenescence,  or  the  renewal  of  life;  but  disease — un- 
derstanding by  this  name,  painful  and  virulent  affections — 
is  not  natural.  At  least  it  is  imj)ossible  to  conceive  of  it  as 
in  any  way  compatible  with  a state  of  moral  and  physical 
purity,  such  as  that  which  the  Bible  teaches  regarding  our 
first  parents,  and  which  alone  is  a true  state  of  Nature. 
Tlie  hundred  wretched  maladies  which  now  infest  the  world, 
entered  it,  there  is  every  reason  to  believe,  with  man’s  gra- 
dual, and  deeper  and  deeper  lapse  into  sin,  or  the  m-natural 
state.  While  the  corruption  of  nature  by  the  Fall”  is  un- 
questionably much  exaggerated  by  theologians,  in  whose 
commentaries  it  is  for  more  largely  dwelt  upon  than  in  the 
Scriptures — neither  our  Saviour  nor  any  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment writers  who  profited  by  his  oral  instruction  ever 
making  mention  of  it — it  cannot  for  a moment  be  doubted 
that  there  is  an  awful  and  unrecalled  literal  truth  in  what 
it  is  customary  to  call  the  “ curse.”  Thorns  and  thistles 
shall  the  earth  produce  unto  thee,  in  sorrow  shalt  thou 
bring  forth ; and  the  other  similar  intimations  of  evil  to 
come,  carry  with  them  the  intimation,  though  this  is  not 
specifically  stated,  that  disease  also  would  now  begin  to  af- 
flict. It  would  enter  the  world,  like  the  thorns  and  thistles 
themselves,  and  like  the  creatures  which  are  noxious  to 
man — expressly  taught  by  Luther,  Kirby,  and  many  others 
to  have  been  unknown  to  this  earth  till  after  the  Fall; — it 
would  now  enter  the  world  because  the  latter  had  become 
an  arena,  through  the  sin  of  its  inhabitants,  into  which  in- 
fernal principles  and  circumstances  could  project  them- 
selves; each  thorn  and  thistle,  and  noxious  animal  and 
disease,  being  the  physical  embodiment  or  playing  forth  of 
some  element  of  licll ; the  virus  of  a long  anterior  sin,  in- 
fusing itself  into  a fresh  country  of  the  universe.  The  coim 


PHYSICAL  AND  MORAL  DISEASE. 


37. 


mon  origin  of  the  two  forms  of  disease  of  course  does  not 
imply  that  they  shall  exist  in  the  same  person,  or  that  moral 
disease  necessarily  engenders  physical,  or  physical  disease, 
moral,  in  a man  who  suffers  from  the  other.  It  is  in  the 
total  of  the  world  and  its  inhabitants — some  experiencing 
the  spiritual,  others  the  physical,  that  the  representative 
fulfillment  is  effected.  Physical  disease  visits  the  most  vir- 
tuous, if  they  neglect  to  take  sanitary  precautions ; and  the 
man  who  attends  to  them,  though  he  be  a thief  and  a liar, 
probably  has  not  a day’s  sickness  in  his  life-time.  Permitted 
thus  to  enter  the  world  we  dwell  in,  like  all  other  evils,  it  still 
comes  under  the  supervision  of  divine  love.  To  exhibit  this 
great  principle  as  regards  sickness,  has  been  the  happy  office 
of  Dr.  Duncan,  in  his  commendable  little  work,  God  in 
Disease,  or  the  manifestations  of  design  in  morbid  pheno- 
mena.” “ Throughout  every  department  of  the  various 
forms  of  physical  suffering,”  says  he,  are  scattered  in  pro- 
fusion, proofs  of  care,  of  tenderness,  and  of  design.”  By 
well-chosen  illustrations,  embracing  many  different  kinds  of 
disease,  the  Doctor  shows  most  conclusively,  that  though  in- 
fernal in  its  origin,  all  the  subsequent  history  of  disease  is  a 
history  of  infinite  benevolence,  and  this  whether  it  afflict 
the  wicked  or  the  good.  This  book  is  of  peculiar  value  as 
being  the  first  step  in  a very  useful  direction,  namely,  the 
collection  of  the  evidence  of  a personal  and  merciful  God  in 
the  disorders  and  irregularities  of  the  universe. 

213.  Connected  thus  intimately,  it  follows  that  the  best 
and  shortest  way  to  diminish  physical  disease,  is  to  strive  to 
diminish  that  which  is  spiritual ; seeing  that  wherever  there 
is  most  scope  afforded  for  underlying  spiritual  forces  to  ex- 
press themselves,  the  physical  outbirths  of  those  forces  will 
most  abound.  So  long  as  mankind  surrender  themselves 
willingly  to  the  malignant  seductions  of  infernal  spirits, 
thereby  opening  the  way  for  aggravation  and  extension  of 


372 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  HEALING. 


spiritual  disease,  so  long  will  physical  disease  continue  in 
full  force.  The  principle  is  daily  becoming  verified.  Though 
the  names,  and  thence  the  apparent  diversities  of  disease, 
are  multiplying,  disease  itself,  with  the  advance  of  civiliza- 
tion, is  steadily  decreasing.*  While  knowledge  is  power,  it 
is  also  bodily  health.  As  arts  and  sciences,  social  economy 
and  refinement,  move  onwards,  all  these  things  being  essen- 
tially connected  with  moral  or  Christian  advance,  the  means 
are  increased  by  which  life  is  defended,  and  pain  alleviated. 
How  much  more,  then,  may  be  anticipated  from  the  direct 
warfare  with  the  very  fundamental  causes  of  disease  carried 
on  by  the  extension  of  religious  principle  and  motive,  in 
other  words,  from  the  gradual  evangelization  of  the  world. 
Intelligence  assails  disease  proximately,  because  it  teaches 
what  are  the  physical  laws  of  health,  and  the  implicit  obe- 
dience they  require ; improvement  in  morals  helps  to  subvert 
its  very  basis.  To  get  a vicious  man  to  amend  his  morals, 
is  similar  to  burying  a corpse.  For  as  the  latter  diffuses 
malaria  of  physical  death,  so  do  the  wicked  among  mankind 
difiTuse  those  of  spiritual  death.  Innocence  and  purity  are 
corrupted  by  them;  health  is  lost,  and  disease  takes  its 
place. 

214.  The  miracles  performed  by  our  Lord  consisted  chiefly 
in  healing,  for  the  very  reason  that  bodily  diseases  represent 
the  more  awful  ones  of  the  soul,  which  it  was  the  object  of 
his  life  and  death  in  the  flesh  to  remove.  ‘‘Jesus  went  about 
all  Galilee,  teaching  in  their  synagogues,  and  preaching  the 
gospel  of  the  kingdom,  and  healing  all  manner  of  sickness, 
and  all  manner  of  disease  among  the  people.”  Every  cure 
which  he  wrought  represented  the  liberation  of  the  soul  from 
some  particular  kind  of  moral  evil,  or  some  specific  intellec- 


* See  Marx  and  Willis,  On  the  Decrease  of  Disease  effected  by  the 
Progress  of  Civilization  1844 


THE  TRUE  INTENT  OF  MIRACLES. 


373 


tual  error.  ‘‘Bless  the  Lord,  O my  soul,”  says  the  psalmist, 
“who  forgiveth  all  thine  iniquities,  who  healeth  all  thy  dis- 
eases.” Thus  were  the  miracles  in  question  performed  not 
merely  as  indications  of  a Divine  power  to  command,  but 
as  media  of  spiritual  instruction.  To  the  more  intelligent 
Jews  who  witnessed  them,  they  must  have  been  peculiarly 
attractive,  seeing  that  an  especial  function  of  their  Scrip- 
tures— the  Old  Testament  of  our  Bible — and  of  the  entire 
ritual  of  their  religion,  had  been  to  train  them  to  look  for 
lessons  of  spiritual  wisdom  in  things  physical  and  objective. 
Under  this  discipline,  the  love  of  signs  and  wonders  became 
eminently  characteristic  of  the  Jewish  mind,  as  a taste  for 
philosophic  speculation  and  discussion  was  peculiarly  dis- 
tinctive of  the  Greek;*  so  that,  from  disposition  as  well  as 
habit,  they  must  have  been  prepared — or  at  least  the  pious 
and  better  part,  who  had  eyes  to  see — to  perceive  in  those 
acts  of  divine  cure  the  benignest  and  most  godlike  of  pro- 
mises. No  man  rightly  appreciates  the  miracles  who  does 
not  interpret  them  after  the  same  manner.  That  such  is  the 
true  and  the  prescribed  intent  of  the  miracles,  is  shown  by 
the  very  word  used  to  denote  them,  which  is  almost  uniformly 
(TYjiiEtov^  “sign,”  implying  that  they  are  to  be  regarded  as 
significant,  i.  e.,  significant  of  something  interior  to  and 
higher  than  the  bare  physical  performance.  The  value  of  a 
thing  is  always  in  proportion  to  its  significance,  to  the  truth 
which  it  representatively  teaches ; the  spectacle  of  the  world 
is  the  grand,  permanent  source  of  sound  and  sublime  in- 
struction which  we  find  it,  entirely  by  virtue  of  this  great 
quality;  as  the  chief  effect  of  female  beauty  depends  on  ex- 
pression, so  the  value  to  our  minds  of  the  material  universe 
comes  of  our  being  able  to  perceive  in  it  the  expressive  cha- 


* “The  Jews,^’  says  St.  Paul,  “require  a sign,  and  the  Greeks  seek 
after  wisdom.’^  I Cor.  i.  22. 

32 


S74 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  MIRACLES. 


racters  of  Divine  intelligence  and  love.  When,  in  daily 
converse,  we  would  speak  of  a thing  as  utterly  worthless,  we 
say  that  it  is  msignificant,  it  teaches  nothing  but  what  we 
see  in  its  blank  outline. 

215.  Whatever  may  be  the  theological  importance  of 
these  miracles,  their  value  in  helping  us  on  towards  a right 
j)hilosophy  of  the  universe,  is  at  least  equal  to  it.  We  are 
introduced  by  them,  and  indeed  by  the  miracles  universally, 
to  new  and  more  enlightened  perceptions  of  those  admirable 
methods  of  the  Creator  which  men  call  Nature,  and  thus  to 
enlarged  understanding  of  the  Life  which  it  is  one  of  the 
splendid  functions  of  nature  to  assist  in  expounding,  so  far 
as  it  is  capable  of  exposition.  A notice  of  them  is  here, 
therefore,  quite  in  place.  Miracles,  as  wrought  by  our 
Lord,  and  by  certain  of  the  prophets  and  disciples,  are  not, 
as  many  suppose,  at  variance  with  nature,  but  only  with 
unexpanded  notions  about  nature.  To  assert  them  to  be  at 
variance' with  nature,  is  to  assume,  in  fact,  to  know  every- 
thing, both  about  God,  and  his  universe,  and  his  mode  of 
managing  it.  Nothing  can  be  really  inconsistent  with  na- 
ture. It  is  a first  principle  of  true  philosophy  that  events, 
ajiparently  the  most  unnatural  and  incompatible,  admit, 
nevertheless,  of  classification,  when  taken  into  some  higher 
synthesis; — that  in  the  long  run,  everything  is  referable  to 
Law.  Every  ultimate  fact  is  only  the  first  of  a new  series. 
Every  ‘general  law’  is  only  a particular  fact  of  some  more 
general  law,  presently  to  disclose  itself.  There  is  no  out- 
side, no  finally  enclosing  wall.  The  principle  which  to-day 
seems  circumferential,  to-morrow  appears  included  in  a 
larger.  Our  life  is  an  apprenticeship  to  the  truth,  that 
around  every  circle  another  can  be  drawn;  that  there  is  no 
end,  but  that  every  end  is  a new  beginning.”  Physical 
S(;icnce  is  continually  revealing,  or  at  least  pointing  to  such 
wider,  more  comj)rehensive,  laws,  within  which  the  familiar 


MIRACLES  AND  LAWS  OF  NATURE. 


3T5 


ones  are  contained;  its  progress  ‘‘is  constantly  towards  larger 
and  larger  generalizations,  towards  generalizations,  that  is, 
which  include  the  generalizations  previously  established.” 
Miracles,  for  their  part,  however  widely  they  may  be  at 
variance  with  the  ordinary  course  of  things,  come  under  a 
law  which  comprises  both  themselves  and  the  daily  pheno- 
mena which  surround  us,  a law  of  which  the  sight  is  not 
withheld  from  the  inquirer.  Everything  is  a miracle  when 
for  the  first  time  witnessed ; it  is  our  ignorance  of  the  cause 
of  the  phenomenon  which  gives  it  the  miraculous  aspect. 
Gaining  clearer  knowledge,  we  refer  it  to  its  place. 

216.  By  taking  an  example  or  two  from  physical  science, 
we  shall  see  this  great  principle  without  difficulty ; — the  laws, 
for  instance,  under  which,  in  the  first  place,  the  leaves  of 
plants  are  produced,  and  subsequently  the  flowers,  which  are 
yet  but  two  different  operations  of  one  law.  Watch  a plant 
during  the  spring  and  early  summer,  and  to  appearance  it 
lives  for  the  sole  purpose  of  multiplying  its  leaves,  and  en- 
larging its  general  fabric ; and  were  we  ourselves  to  live  no 
longer,  we  should  conclude,  and  allowably,  that  it  was  its 
nature  to  do  no  more.  Presently,  however,  the  production 
of  foliage  is  found  to  be  only  a part  of  the  scheme  of  plant- 
life.  As  the  season  advances,  our  attention  is  invited  to 
another  process.  The  development  of  stem  and  leaf  abates, 
and  the  plant  covers  itself  with  blossoms.  Now  did  we  not 
annually  witness  the  beautiful  show ; did  the  carrying  out  of 
the  whole  of  the  plan  of  plant-life,  which  is  for  flowers  to  be 
superadded  to  leaves,  at  a certain  time,  for  a purpose  of  their 
own, — did  this,  we  say,  take  place  but  once  in  a thousand 
years,  how  little  short  would  it  be  of  all  the,  external  charac- 
teristics of  a miracle.  But  the  exigencies  of  organization 
require  that  it  should  be  incessant,  so  it  is  depreciated  into 
one  of  the  common,  spontaneous  acts  of  nature.  If  not  ab- 
solutely a miracle,  it  is  at  least  a picture  of  what  miracles 


3T6  ILLUSTRATIONS  FROM  PHYSICAL  SCIENCE. 

are.  The  flower  is  from  the  first,  in  preparation, — an 
integral  part  of  the  idea  of  the  plant ; tliough  to  the  unob- 
servant it  comes  suddenly,  the  practiced  eye  can  discern  its 
embryo  even  when  the  leaf-buds  have  scarcely  begun  to  open ; 
beautifully  representing  in  Unites  what  miracles  and  tlieir 
laws  are  to  the  Infinite.  For  could  we  see  the  entire  scheme 
of  the  universe  as  He  alone  can  see  it,  we  should  perceive 
them,  unquestionably,  bearing  a relation  to  its  symmetry  and 
inviolable  Order,  similar  to  that  which,  in  miniature,  the 
flower  bears  to  the  plant.  So  with  the  phenomena  of  astro- 
nomical science.  The  ‘‘natural  law”  of  the  visible  heavens 
is  for  the  planets  to  move  in  certain,  well-known  orbits ; for 
the  constellations  to  change  their  apparent  positions  with  the 
circling  of  the  hours  and  seasons,  and  for  various  other 
phenomena  to  transpire,  familiar  and  intelligible  enough  to 
their  student.  Yet  how  many  others  take  place  in  the  depths 
of  space  which  seemingly  are  altogether  anomalous,  such  as 
most  of  those  connected  with  comets.  Compared  with  the 
ordinary  occurrences,  they  are  miracles.  But  no  ; whatever 
the  ignorant  may  suppose,  the  astronomer  is  satisfied  that 
they  are  merely  phenomena  waiting  explanation ; — phe- 
nomena referable  to  some  wider  law,  which  controls  our  solar 
system,  and  the  constellations,  and  the  comets  alike,  and 
which  science  may  some  day  put  in  the  same  rank  as  to  iu- 
telligibleness,  with  eclipses  and  the  morphology  of  plants. 
Again ; “ the  anomaly  that  water  is  at  its  greatest  density  at 
about  40°  Fahr.,  and  below  that,  expands  with  decrease  of 
temperature,  is  held  by  some  to  be  a marvelous  and  outstand- 
ing fact,  setting  all  theory  at  defiance.  Yet  no  truly  induc- 
tive philosopher  for  a moment  doubts  that  it  is  really  a part 
and  consequence  of  some  higher  law,  of  which  the  ordinary 
law  of  expansion  is  a part.”*  Much  of  what  it  is  customary 


Baden  Powell,  Unity  of  Worlds,  &c.,  p.  9G. 


EVERY  NATURAL  EFFECT  THE  RESULT  OF  LAW.  377 

to  call,  in  reference  to  miracles,  the  “ suspension’’  or  viola- 
tion” of  natural  laws,  is  disproved  by  the  phenomena  attend- 
ing the  operation  of  eoimteracting  laws  ; also  by  such  as  come 
of  the  simultaneous  operation  of  two  different  laws.  For 
instance,  it  is  “ a natural  law”  that  fire  shall  burn  ; but  at  the 
1861  meeting  of  the  British  Association,  M.  Boutigny  passed 
his  bare  hand  harmlessly  through  a mass  of  molten  metal, 
showing  that  fire  may  be  prevented  from  burning,  although 
to  the  spectator  who  is  unacquainted  with  the  scientific  reason 
of  the  prevention,  there  is  no  apparent  reason  why  it  should 
not  burn.  The  freezing  of  water  in  a red-hot  platinum 
crucible,  which  every  dextrous  chemical  teacher  now  shows 
to  his  pupils,  curiously  exemplifies  the  miracles  which  come 
of  two  or  more  laws  acting  at  the  same  moment.  The  very 
notion  of  an  interference”  with  natural  law  is  foolish,  since 
every  effect  in  nature  must  necessarily  be  the  result  of  a law 
instituted  to  ensure  it.  In  whatever  department  of  nature 
they  may  occur,  all  such  anomalies  will  unquestionably  be 
found  some  day,  to  be  included  under  grand  and  harmonious 
laws.  Nature,”  in  the  words  of  the  great  master,  pur- 
sues its  course,  and  what  we  take  for  an  exception,  is  but  in 
accordance  with  law.”  As  to  anomalies,  says  the  acute 
writer  just  quoted,  ‘‘  the  philosopher  will  always  fall  back 
upon  the  primary  maxim  that  it  is  in  every  case  more  pro- 
bable that  events  of  an  unaccountable  and  marvelous  char- 
acter are  parts  of  some  great  fixed  order  of  causes  unknown 
to  us,  than  that  any  real  interruption  occurs.”*  When  we 
speak,  accordingly,  of  the  ‘‘  laws  of  nature,”  and  define 
miracles,  as  we  suppose,  by  means  of  the  contrast,  we  do  no 
more  than  speak  of  some  few  laws  that  lie  on  the  surface. 
Familiar  with  a certain  number  of  them,  we  are  prone  to 
look  upon  ourselves  as  admitted  into  the  sanctuary  of  the 


^ Baden  Powell,  Unity  of  Worlds,  &c..  p.  108. 
32 


378 


INTERRUPTIONS  OF  NATURE. 


temple,  when  in  reality  we  are  only  in  the  porch.  When 
science  shall  be  able  to  explain  the  miracles,  it  will  be  time, 
and  not  before,  for  men  to  catalogue  the  “ laws  of  nature.” 
That  smaller  things  and  principles,  perfect  in  themselves, 
are  yet  contained  within  larger  ones,  is  shown  as  well  in  the 
forms  as  in  the  laws  of  nature ; of  which  latter,  indeed,  ob- 
jective forms  are  only  so  many  exhibitions.  However 
widely  objects  may  vary  in  configuration  and  structure 
among  themselves,  a common  idea  is  found  to  pervade  them 
all.  Everything  is  but  a part  of  a wider  complex.  In  all 
their  insatiable  variety  there  is  yet  contained  a permanent 
and  unmistakeable  unity.  The  idea  of  any  given  “ species 
of  animal  is  only  part  of  the  idea  of  the  whole  animal  king- 
dom ; and  this  again  is  only  part  of  a still  more  enlarged 
idea,  which  comprises  both  the  animal  and  the  vegetable 
kingdoms.  This  again  is  a part  of  the  whole  idea  of  the  earth, 
which  appears  at  first  sight  an  exclusive  little  world  of 
itself,  but  is,  notwithstanding,  only  a part  of  a vast  system 
of  worlds.” 

217.  It  does  but  require  then  that  we  should  carry  this 
great  general  principle  to  the  consideration  of  the  miracles, 
to  find  them,  as  affirmed  in  the  outset,  at  once  a portion  of 
nature,  and  one  of  its  most  valuable  and  instructive  por- 
tions ; differing  from  the  familiar  portion  only  in  the  cir- 
cumstance of  their  having  been  so  timed  in  the  general  plan 
of  creation,  as  to  subserve  specific  religious  purposes.  The 
difference  does  not  consist,  as  commonly  supposed,  in  the 
putting  forth  of  a greater  amount  of  divine  power ; it  is  a 
difference  only  in  the  mode  of  the  manifestation  of  that 
power ; or  consisting  in  the  unaccustomed  shape  or  formula 
in  which,  at  particular  eras,  it  has  been  exhibited  to  men. 
To  say  that  an  event  such  as  that  of  the  sudden  healing  of 
the  sick  was  a miracle,”  is  strictly  notliing  more  than  to 
s])eak  of  it  as  an  anomaly  in  our  experience.  Whatever 


THE  USUAL  AND  THE  UNUSUAL. 


379 


else  the  miracles  may  prove,  the  first  thing  they  make  us 
sensible  of  is  our  ignorance ; the  first  benefit  we  derive  from 
them  is  impulse  therefore  to  new  intellectual  effort.  There 
is  nothing  about  the  miracles  to  put  them  absolutely  out  of 
the  pale  of  our  understanding.  True,  nature  has  an  acces- 
sible and  an  inaccessible,  and  it  is  our  wdsdom  to  find  out 
where  the  division  lies.  But  it  is  also  true  that  nature  is  a 
vast  promise.  Though  there  are  thousands  of  things  not  yet 
understood,  he  would  be  a bold  man  who  would  enumerate 
what  things  are  absolutely  incomprehensible.  Darkness, 
for  the  most  part,  is  not  so  much  the  darkness  of  night  to 
an  eye  that  is  open,  as  of  day  to  an  eye  that  is  closed  in 
indifference.  The  contentment  of  the  world  in  general  with 
the  light  they  possess,  is  no  reason  with  the  Fountain  of 
Wisdom  for  withholding  enlarged  supplies  from  those  who 
ask  for  more.  It  comes  therefore  to  a mere  question  of  in- 
telligence and  desire  to  know.  There  is  every  encourage- 
ment to  hope  and  strive.  How  small  a part  even  of  the 
ordinary  laws  of  nature  is  yet  open  to  the  profoundest  phil- 
osopher ; yet  how  clear  are  the  ideas  already  attained  from 
the  index  which  that  small  part  furnishes!  How  many 
wonderful  processes  are  going  on  in  secret  which  we  know 
nothing  of!  How  many  are  there  which  this  age  was  first 
acquainted  with ; how  many  that  we  are  ignorant  of  will  be 
discovered  when  our  memory  shall  be  no  more!  We  have 
but  to  abide  by  the  principles  which  guide  us  in  scientific 
research.  With  every  step  upwards,  we  learn  to  think  more 
of  the  common”  arrangements  of  the  world,  and  to  lay 
less  proportionate  stress  upon  occurrences  which  are  rare, 
because  all  are  found  referable  to  a central  spring,  rendering 
none  more  peculiarly  strange  than  another,  and  taking  even 
from  the  strangest  that  seeming  of  an  “ interference”  with 
law,  or  of  “suspension”  of  law,  which  at  first  is  all  our 
thought.  The  brute  is  scared  by  the  lightning,  and  tlie  un- 


880 


MIRACLES  AND  REJUVENESCENCE. 


tutored  mind  is  aghast  at  the  storm  ; both  are  unobservant 
of  the  stars  and  their  movements,  while  all  these  things  are 
to  the  intelligent  as  much  a part  of  nature  as  daylight. 
“ The  difference  between  the  wise  and  the  unwise  is,  that  the 
latter  wonder  more  at  what  is  itnusual,  the  former  more  at 
what  is  usuaU^  In  reality,  what  we  pass  by  so  indifferently 
as  “ common,”  is  for  the  most  part,  in  the  highest  degree 
extraordinary,  habit  alone  dulling  the  sight  to  what  we 
should  otherwise  wonder  at  as  “ miraculous,”  just  as  we  are 
apt  to  overlook  many  of  the  greatest  of  God’s  mercies, 
because  with  us  always. 

218.  The  function  or  instructive  purpose  of  a miracle  is 
Rejuvenescence.  Wrought  in  all  cases,  either  directly  or 
indirectly,  by  Him  who  upholdeth  all  things  by  the  word 
of  his  power,”  the  miracles,  whether  judicial,  creative,  or 
restorative,  were  acts  uniformly  bearing  a definite  and  posi- 
tive relation  to  the  highest  and  heavenliest  condition  of 
things,  the  everlasting  Eden  of  Life.  How  beautifully  is  it 
told  of  Naaman,  that  when  miraculously  cured  of  his  lep- 
rosy by  washing  seven  times  in  Jordan,  his  flesh  came 
again,  like  unto  the  flesh  of  a little  cliildy  What  could 
show  more  strikingly  that  miracles,  rightly  understood,  so 
far  from  being  arbitrary  deeds  in  contravention  of  nature, 
consist  in  the  removal  of  hindrances  to  its  proper,  harmo- 
nious activity?  All,  without  doubt,  were  indications  to  man, 
that  by  his  moral  degeneracy  he  is  in  an  abnormal  state ; 
that  sickness,  want,  evil,  are  the  ^t77natural  condition ; that 
the  state  of  Nature  is  Excellence,  Youth,  Life;  that  these, 
as  we  have  said  before,  are  the  one  grand,  comprehensive 
idea  of  the  universe,  and  other  things  mere  accidents  and 
j)henom(‘na  of  their  history  and  promotion.  ‘‘A  miracle,” 
says  ])r.  Cumming,  ‘Gs  not,  as  some  have  tried  to  show, 
c.ontrary  to  nature,  but  is  above  and  beyond  what  we  call 
nature.  Eor  instance,  when  we  read  of  our  Lord’s  healing 


CORRESPONDENCES  OF  DISEASES. 


881 


the  sick,  and  raising  the  dead,  we  hear  it  said  that  it  is  con- 
trary to  nature.  It  is  no  such  thing.  We  call  it  contrary 
to  nature,  because  we  say  that  sickness  is  natural.  Sickness 
is  not  natural ; it  is  an  ^natural  thing — a discord  in  the 
glorious  harmony.  So  with  death.  Death  is  the  unnatural 
thing,  and  the  natural  thing  is  putting  an  end  to  death,  and 
bringing  back  glorious  and  everlasting  life.  Healing  the 
sick,  and  raising  the  dead,  are  the  perfection  of  nature; 
they  are  the  bringing  back  of  nature  to  its  pristine  state ; 
the  restoration  of  the  primaeval  harmony,  the  augury  of 
future  happiness ; they  are  demonstrations  to  us  that  all  the 
prophecies  which  describe  paradise  are  possibilities.  Every 
miracle  of  our  Lord  is  a specimen  of  that  new  genesis  under 
which  there  shall  be  no  more  sickness,  but  wherein  former 
things  shall  have  passed  away,  and  all  things  shall  be  made 
new.’'* 

219.  What  maladies  of  the  soul  are  specifically  repre- 
sented by  given  diseases,  it  is  easy  to  perceive.  Those  which 
are  mentioned  in  the  Bible  furnish  a clue  to  all.  Leprosy, 
for  example,  corresponds  to  profanation ; or  the  knowledge 
of  what  is  right,  but  contempt  and  neglect  of  the  practice 
of  it.  Reverence  for  divine  truth,  and  obedience  to  it,  is 
the  very  first  step  in  regeneration ; hence,  the  first  person 
cured  after  the  sermon  on  the  mount  was  one  afflicted  with 
the  disease  in  question.  The  next  was  one  ^‘sick  of  the 
palsy;”  the  condition  of  the  paralytic  exactly  represents  the 
infirmity  of  the  human  will.  Fever  represents  anger,  rage, 
and  fury  in  their  various  degrees,  whence  its  frequent  meta- 


* Foreshadows,  vol.  i.  Lectures  on  the  Miracles  of  our  Lord,  as 
earnests  of  the  Age  to  come,  p.  9.  In  saying  that  death  is  unnatural, 
Dr.  Gumming  of  course  is  influenced  by  the  low  and  popular  notion 
respecting  death  which  we  have  had  occasion  to  correct  above. 


382 


SALVATION  IS  HEALTH  OF  SOUL. 


{)liorical  use  alike  in  poetry  and  colloquial  converse.  Fur- 
ther illustrations  may  be  seen  in  the  llev.  Isaac  Williams’ 
“ Thoughts  on  the  Study  of  the  Holy  Gospels/’  and  in  Hr. 
Duncan’s  little  work  just  now  spoken  of. 

220.  Because  of  the  correspondence  we  are  considering, 
our  Lord  is  called  the  great  Physician  and  the  Saviour. 
The  former  name  signifies  one  who  restores  to  a state  of 
nature ; the  latter,  the  healer  or  health-giver.  ‘‘  Salvation” 
is  derived  from  the  Latin  sahts  health,  salvus  healthy,  which 
in  French  reappears  as  sauf,  the  proximate  root  of  save. 
Salvation,  accordingly,  is  that  which,  as  the  work  of  God 
saves  or  heals  our  souls.  Hence  the  cry  of  David — O Lord, 
heal  my  soul ! and  the  prayer  of  the  pro])het — Heal  me,  O 
Lord,  and  I shall  be  healed ; save  me,  and  I shall  be  saved. 
Jesus  Christ,  as  the  Sun  of  Kighteousness,  is  said  to  bring 
healing  on  his  wings.  Etymologically,  heal”  and  save” 
are  the  same  word,  as  readily  seen  by  grouping  together  the 
several  collateral  forms,  as  ^Svhole,”  and  the  Greek  o/oc. 
The  hale  man  is  he  who  is  whole ; health  is  literally  a state 
of  wholeness.  Primarily,  the  words  heal  and  save  thus 
mean  to  make  sound  or  entire,  as  when  a wound  is  healed, 
and  the  new  skin  grown  over.  The  numerous  sad  pictures 
in  Scripture  of  the  depraved  moral  state  as  one  of  wounds, 
laceration,  and  bleeding,  give  to  these  words,  as  there '"used, 
an  unspeakable  beauty  and  appropriateness.  How  sub- 
limely it  is  ascribed  to  the  Lord,  that  He  healeth  the 
stroke  of  their  wound  !”  Derived  from  the  same  primitive 
root,  through  another  channel,  and  denoting  the  same  idea, 
are  the  words  solace,  console,  consolation.  An  incurable 
grief,  the  wound  of  heart  that  remains  open  till  death,  Ovid 
beautifully  calls  vulnus  mconsolabilis.  Life  and  health,  or 
wholeness,  imply  unity,  integrity,  perfection ; hence  we  find 
tlie  earth,  the  firm,  round  earth,”  called  solum,  and  what- 
ever is  like  it  in  its  integrity,  soKc/,  whether  material  oi 


MUSIC  AND  MEDICINE. 


383 


spiritual.  We  speak  of  a solid  understanding,  as  Horace 
of  mens  solida,  a fixed  resolution.  To  consolidate  is  to 
make  perfect  or  entire.  The  idea  of  such  entirety  is  the 
ground  of  the  adjective  solus,  alone ; and  reappears  also  in 
or  Sol,  the  sun.  Helios  was  the  same  as  Phoebus 
Apollo,  the  god  of  day  and  of  light,  and  the  father  of  ^scu- 
lapius,  the  god  of  medicine,  if  not  the  god  of  medicine  or 
healing  in  his  own  person ; for  though  in  later  times  there 
were  as  many  as  four  Apollos  distinguished,  this  was  proba- 
bly but  in  keeping  with  the  tendency  of  the  Grecian  mind 
to  change  the  several  attributes  of  a deity  into  as  many  dis- 
tinct gods.  The  primitive  idea  was  the  sun,  the  fountain  of 
light;  to  this,  as  a matter  of  course,  followed  life  and 
health ; and  by  another  beautiful  perception,  the  same  deity 
presided  over  music,  one  of  the  soul’s  chief  comforters  and 
healers,  whence  its  medicinal  fame  from  time  immemorial. 
‘‘  The  poets,”  says  Lord  Bacon,  ‘‘  did  w^ell  to  conjoin  music 
and  medicine  in  Apoll(^  since  the  office  of  medicine  is  but 
to  tune  this  curious  harp  of  man’s  body,  and  to  reduce  it  to 
harmony.”  Apollo  was  the  pagan  aspiration  after  Christ ; 
one  of  his  surnames  was  acoTTjp^  Saviour.  His  worship,  his 
festivals,  his  oracles,  all  had  more  weight  and  influence  with 
the  Greeks  than  those  of  any  other  deity  they  worshiped. 
They  would  never  have  become  what  they  were  without  the 
worship  of  Apollo;  in  him  was  the  brightest  side  of  the 
Grecian  mind  reflected.  He  who  is  the  True  Light,  the 
Light  which  is  the  life  of  men,  reveals  himself  also  as 
Healer  of  the  nations,  in  his  lovely  song  of  one  that 
playeth  well  upon  an  instrument.” 

221.  The  profound  and  beautiful  relations  indicated  in 
the  above  ideas  are  acknowledged  alike  by  theology  and 
philosophy,  by  science,  poetry,  and  language;  all  of  whick 
testify  that  like  the  Bible  in  its  multiplicity  of  translations, 
the  great,  primal  truths  of  creation  are  yet  but  varied  pre- 


384 


UNITY  OF  TRUTH. 


sentations  of  One  truth.  Every  cluster  of  human  know- 
ledge is  consanguineous  with  every  otlier  cluster,  like  the 
bunches  of  grapes  upon  a vine,  and  our  highest  and  most 
delightful  intellectual  exercise  is  to  realize  their  unity,  and 
their  common  origin.  How  beautifully,  for  instance,  does 
science  illustrate  the  correspondence  of  Light  and  Music,  as 
regards  the  fundamental  tones  of  the  musical  scale  and  the 
prismatic  colors!  The  colors  thrown  by  the  prism  upon  the 
wall  are  the  sounds  of  music,  in  a different  sphere,  so  that 
whatever  is  representatively  expressed  in  Light,  is  repre- 
sentatively expressed  also  in  the  harmonies  which  please  the 
ear,  the  difference  being  only  in  the  method.  The  corres- 
pondence is  not  a discovery  of  science;  strictly  speaking, 
science  discovers  very  little;  its  function  is  rather  to  confirm. 
We  speak  intuitively  of  the  ‘Tiarmony  of  colors;”  the  poet 
in  every  age  finds  music  in  the  lovely  variegations  of  natural 
scenery,  and  equally  detects  in  music  that  exquisite  inter- 
weaving and  melody  of  tints,  which  contributes  so  largely  to 
the  objective  picturesque.  The  harp  of  Memnon  is  not  a 
fable;  the  glow  of  the  rising  sun  is  a song  wherever  it  may 
shine;  “every  lover  of  nature  who,  seated  on  a mountain  or 
by  the  ocean,  has  witnessed  the  sun  casting  his  first  golden 
beams  across  the  earth,  has  had  his  soul  stirred  by  its  hea- 
venly music ;”  heard  faintly  and  from  afar,  as  it  is  in  towns, 
still  how  divinely  glad  and  animating  are  its  strains!  Sun- 
rise may  well  have  been  deemed  the  return  of  a god : it  is 
not  merely  the  awakener  of  the  world  to  life;  the  whole 
idea  of  life  is  representatively  summed  up  in  it,  as  in  a happy 
and  beautiful  child  descending  upon  the  household  as  its 
morning-beam.  Thus  is  it  with  all  knowledge;  the  wider 
and  higher  the  laws  of  nature  we  can  discover,  the  more 
admirable  and  extended  is  our  insight  into  nature,  and  the 
more  of  it  do  we  enjoy  at  any  given  moment,  as  by  grasping 
tlic  stem  on  which  they  grow,  we  secure  a whole  posy  of 


THE  VEILED  ISIS. 


385 


flowers  at  once.  Far,  we  can  never  penetrate,  yet  may 
every  man  more  deeply  than  he  does.  Isis  still  presents  her 
countenance  veiled  as  of  old;  but  while  she  with  disdain 
rejects  the  mere  dissector  and  nomenclator,  who  cares  only 
to  inspect  her  as  an  anatomist;  to  him  who  would  look  upon 
her  with  the  eyes  of  a lover,  she  will  grant  divinest  glimpses. 
That  heavenly  face  is  hidden  from  the  world  only  that  rude 
profanity  shall  not  stare  at  it;  it  is  in  wise  encouragement 
that  it  should  be  so ; for  if,  according  to  the  inscription,  no 
mortal  may  uncover  it,  we  must  seek  then  to  be  immortal. 
He  whose  heart  faints  because  discomfited  while  on  earth,  is 
no  true  disciple  at  Sais. 

33 


B 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

MOIiTALITY  AJVn  IMMOIiTALITF, 

222.  With  so  solemn  and  inevitable  a destiny  as  Death 
forever  looming  in  the  future,  it  is  not  surprising  that  the 
leading  text  of  the  moralist  and  preacher  in  every  age 
should  be  preparation  for  it ; or  that,  viewing  the  changes 
which  it  works,  and  contemplating  them  only  in  their 
mournful  aspect,  the  verses  of  the  poet  should  he  strown  so 
profusely  with  elegiacs.  Laments  over  the  evanescence  of 
the  beautiful  constitute  some  of  the  richest  poetry  the  world 
possesses ; and  were  even  prose  literature  to  be  sifted  for  its 
gems,  they  would  jirobably  be  found  in  connection  with  the 
same  grateful  but  melancholy  theme,  as  the  loveliest  hours 
of  the  summer  are  those  which  are  wet  with  the  tears  of 
Eos.  There  are  no  monopolies  in  the  kingdom  of  thought 
and  feeling ; the  spirit  by  which  modern  or  Christian  medi- 
tations on  life  and  death  are  often  thought  to  be  distin- 
guished from  those  of  the  ancients,  is  itself  cosmopolite,  as 
well  as  cotemporaneous  with  all  eras ; for  although  the  par- 
ticular phraseology  which  the  New  Testament  has  supplied, 
is  in  the  writings  of  pagan  moralists  necessarily  absent, 
those  writings  breathe  nevertheless,  along  with  their  sad- 
ness, a serene  and  earnest  piety,  which  may  be  found  if 
there  be  disposition  to  acknowledge  it  when  met  with. 
T1  lat  the  ancients’  moralizings  on  life  and  death  arc  com- 
parable witli  those  of  Christian  writers,  it  is  by  no  means 
meant  to  assert.  Unhappily,  there  is  but  too  much  room 

386 


THE  TRUE  FUNCTION  OF  THE  POET. 


387 


for  censure,  especially  as  regards  that  ample  portion  where 
the  scantiness  and  transiency  of  our  temporal  opportunities 
are  made  an  argument  for  sensual  indulgence — when  they 
cry — “ Let  us  eat,  drink,  and  be  merry,  for  to-morrow  we 
die.”  The  verses  ascribed  to  Anacreon  and  other  Greek 
poets,  those  likewise  of  Horace,  Propertius,  and  Catullus,  in- 
citing to  such  indulgence,  are  well  known  to  every  lover  of 
classical  literature.  Yet  even  these  have  their  better,  per- 
haps their  redeeming  aspect,  and  this,  in  merest  prudence, 
should  be  considered  first.  Nothing  is  ever  lost,  while  much 
is  always  gained,  by  attending  to  the  good  of  a thing  before 
its  evil.  Catullus’  address  to  Lesbia,  for  instance,  beginning 

Vivamus,  mea  Lesbia,  atque  amemus, 

which  beautiful  little  poem  may  be  taken  as  a type  of  all 
its  class,  has  in  it  something  so  exquisitely  tender  and  affect- 
ing that  we  can  readily  suppose  the  poet  to  have  laid  so 
much  stress  upon  the  certainty  of  never  returning  into  the 
sunshine  of  terrestrial  life,  in  order  to  encourage  mankind  to 
value  that  life  as  it  deserves,  and  to  enjoy  it  as  intensely  as 
the  Creator  desires  we  should.  As  the  perishableness  of  the 
rose  quickens  our  sense  of  its  beauty  and  fragrance,  so  the 
picture  of  Joy,  with  Death  in  the  distance,  inspires  us  with 
new  interest  in  our  innumerable  temporal  delights,  given  us, 
as  they  are,  ‘‘richly  to  enjoy.”  We  need  such  reminders; 
men  weaken  in  soul  as  well  as  body;  the  glow  and  ardor  of 
love  for  the  beautiful  and  true  die  from  out  of  them,  like 
strength  from  the  limbs,  if  not  watched  and  fed ; the  high  and 
glorious  function  of  the  poet  is,  that  he  comes  to  us  with  his 
stronger  soul,  and  sets  us  growing  and  living  afresh.  Such 
restorative,  invigorative  influence  it  is  the  nature  and  utility 
of  all  true  poetry  to  exert  upon  us,  and  the  degree  in  which 
it  vitalizes  is  the  token  of  the  poet’s  genius.  And  though 
his  particular  theme,  as  in  the  song  referred  to,  which  dwells 


388 


LIFE  TO  IJE  MADE  THE  MOST  OF. 


wholly  upon  kisses,  may  seem  trite  and  poor,  still  he  is  none 
the  less  faithful  to  his  mission  if  he  awaken  lofty  and  amia- 
ble sentiments.  The  physical  images  with  which  he  deals, 
are  so  many  figures  and  representatives,  which  it  is  for  our- 
selves to  translate  into  their  significance,  making  out  a new 
poem  in  our  own  minds.  The  opposition  of  ideas,  so  re- 
markable in  the  opening  lines  of  the  song  spoken  of,  has  a 
beautiful  reflex  in  the  Arcadian  landscape  of  Poussin,  re- 
presenting rural  festivity,  the  charm  of  which  would  be 
sensibly  diminished,  were  it  destitute  of  the  monument  and 
inscription.* 

223.  Be  it  Catullian  or  not,  the  sentiment  that  we  should 
make  the  most  of  life ; that  as  we  go  along  we  should  enjoy 
every  gift  of  God  as  ardently  and  as  copiously  as  we  can, 
consistently  with  sobriety  and  order,  is  a perfectly  right  and 
proper  one — it  is  more,  it  is  one  of  our  first  and  highest 
duties.  To  sell  one’s  self  to  sensuality  is  one  thing ; thank- 
fully to  accept,  and  temperately  to  enjoy  the  honest  plea- 
sures of  the  senses,  is  quite  a different  matter.  Sight  and 
hearing,  taste  and  touch,  were  bestowed  for  no  other  end 
than  to  be  exercised  on  things  congenial  to  them.  The  true 
way  to  enjoy  most  of  heaven  is  previously  to  strive  how 
much  we  can  enjoy  of  earth ; not,  however,  by  striving  to 
enjoy  it  exclusively  as  an  earthly  thing,  still  less  as  a sensu- 
ous one,  to  the  neglect  of  the  moral  and  intellectual ; neither 
again  by  laying  ourselves  out  for  pleasure,  purely  as  such, 
but  by  taking  as  our  ruling  motive,  in  our  search  for  enjoy- 
ment, the  higher  development  of  our  humanity.  The  golden 
rule  of  all  is  to  connect,  as  often  and  as  closely  as  we  can, 
the  terrestrial  with  the  heavenly.  The  highest  delight  of 


* For  a variety  of  beautiful  commentary  and  quotation  upon  this 
Hu})ject,  see  Dunlop’s  History  of  Koman  Literature,  vol.  1,  p.  470. 


VALUE  OF  OPPORTUNITIES.  389 

which  liuman  intelligence  is  susceptible  is  that  which  comes 
of  the  habit  of  translating  the  ordinary  circumstances  of 
daily  life  into  ideas  that  lead  ultimately  to  God ; there  are 
no  truly  beautiful  and  nourishing  ideas  but  such  as  are 
felt  to  gravitate  imperceptibly  towards  Him,  while  none  are 
so  practical  and  efficacious,  as  ingredients  of  happiness,  as 
those  that  are  sucked,  honey-like,  from  the  merest  trifles  of 
existence.  So  in  regard  to  the  time  for  enjoyment.  Though 
we  may  rely  upon  the  recurrence  of  some  few  sources  of 
pleasure,  the  greater  part  are  so  fitful,  the  total  of  the  cir- 
cumstances is  so  unlikely  ever  to  be  the  same  again,  and 
our  own  changes  of  emotional  state  are  so  frequent  and  ex- 
treme— what  enraptures  to-day  often  becoming  distasteful 
and  even  bitter  on  the  morrow — that  if  we  would  realize 
life  in  its  fullness,  we  must  let  no  chance,  not  the  slightest, 
escape,  though  at  the  moment  it  may  seem  utterly  insignifi- 
cant. Life  is  made  up  of  minutes,  and  its  happiness  of  cor- 
responding little  pleasures ; the  wise  man  secures  the  atoms 
as  they  flit  past  him,  and  thus  become  owner  of  the  aggre- 
gate. Making  every  circumstance  of  life,  sensuous,  moral, 
and  intellectual,  and  every  day  and  hour,  contribute  a little 
something,  he  finds  that  though  a brilliant  and  memorable 
pleasure  may  come  but  twice  or  thrice,  the  secret  of  a happy 
life  is  nevertheless  his  own.  That  fine  secret  is  not  so  much 
to  lay  plans  for  acquiring  happy  days,  as  to  pluck  our  en- 
joyment on  the  spot ; in  other  words,  to  spend  that  time  in 
being  happy  which  so  many  lose  in  deliberating  and  scheming 
how  to  become  so. 

Non  est,  credo  mihi,  sapiente  dicere  Vivam; 

Sera  nimis  vita  est  crastina,  vive  hodie. 

ril  live  to-morrow,  His  not  wise  to  say ; 

’Twill  be  too  late  to-morrow, — live  to-day. 

To  accomplish  this,  we  have  only,  as  said  before,  to  make  the 
33  » 


390 


LIFE  HAS  A PRIZE  FOR  EVERY  ONE. 


most  of  each  little  incident  and  opportunity,  contemning 
and  repudiating  nothing;  always  remembering,  however, 
that  the  way  (o  make  such  incidents  and  opportunities  most 
prolific  of  enjoyment  is  so  to  humanize  them  that  they  shall 
flower  into  thoughts  of  heaven.  AVilfully  to  let  opportuni- 
ties go  by,  is  a wickedness  and  an  inexcusable  folly ; whence 
the  still  more  foolish  regrets  which  tear  the  heart  that  has 
been  so  unjust  to  itself — for  folly  is  only  another  name  for 
thorn  and  prickle  seed  ; — but  a greater  folly  yet,  is  to  stand 
waiting  and  wishing  for  oj)portunities,  when  in  fact  they  cir- 
cle us,  if  we  will  but  keep  on  the  qui  vive.  As  the  best 
school  in  respect  of  high  duties  is  the  practice  of  the  little 
ones  of  common  life,  so  the  best  and  shortest  road  to  happi- 
ness and  true  philosoi)hy  is  to  make  the  most  of  what  lies 
beside  us,  and  enjoy  all  we  can  of  the  life  we  have,  leaving 
it  to  God  to  determine  what  fortune  shall  attend  our  steps. 
Dominus  providebit.  If  we  trusted  more  in  his  sponta- 
neous generosity,  we  should  seldomer  be  disconcerted  by  the 
failure  of  our  own  preparations,  and  should  find  that  the 
Divine  intent  is  that  life  shall  be  felicitous.  The  same,  did 
we  ask  ourselves  more  frequently  what  we  have,  rather  than 
brood  so  ungratefully  upon  what  we  have  not  Though 
we  may  be  poor  and  afilicted  in  comparison  with  some,  in 
contrast  with  others  we  are  opulent  and  blest.  Life  has  a 
prize  for  every  one  who  will  open  his  heart  to  receive  it, 
though  it  may  be  a very  diflerent  one  from  the  spirit  of  his 
early  dreams.  “ There  is  no  greater  mistake,”  says  a thought- 
ful writer,  “ in  contemplating  the  issues  of  life,  than  to  sup- 
pose that  baifled  endeavors  and  disappointed  hopes  bear  no 
fruits,  because  they  do  not  bear  those  particular  fruits  which 
were  sought  and  sighed  for. 

The  tree 

Sucks  kindlier  nurture  from  a soil  enrich’d 

Hy  its  own  fallen  leaves,  and  man  is  made 


4 


SORROW  FOR  THE  DEAD. 


391 


In  heart  and  spirit,  from  deciduous  hopes, 

And  things  that  seem  to  perish.’^* 

The  disproportion  in  men’s  inheritances  is  far  less  than  we 
are  prone  to  think.  If  one  hand  of  the  universal  Giver  be 
closed,  the  other  is  expanded ; no  one  is  left  without  his 
meed  of  compensation,  only  in  our  weakness  and  unthank- 
fulness we  look  more  at  the  darker  side  of  our  own  lot,  and 
at  what  appears  to  us  the  brighter  side  of  our  neighbor’s. 
Epictetus  explains  the  mystery  in  part ; ‘Gt  is  not  Fortune 
that  is  blind,  but  ourselves.”  Whatever  be  our  lot,  if  man 
will  but  just  concede  that  that  must  be  best  for  him  which 
the  Best  of  Beings  has  ordained,  life*  thenceforward  has  a 
solace  which  no  fortune  can  wrest  away. 

224.  Thankful,  hopeful,  happy  as  we  may  be.  Death 
comes  at  last,  and  familiar  as  we  may  have  made  it  in 
thought  as  a general  proposition,  always  so  strangely  and 
solemnly  as  to  be  incredible  and  unexpected ; in  the  case  of 
those  we  love,  as  an  impossibility  suddenly  converted  into 
a reality.  Immortal  until  taken  away  from  us,  now  for  the 
first  time  we  become  aware  that  they  were  only  lent,  and 
mourning  and  grieving  seem  to  be  the  only  real  and  perma- 
nent things  of  earth.  There  is  no  wrong  done  in  giving  way 
to  such  emotions.  To  be  troubled  at  the  death  of  those  we 
love,  and  to  shrink  from  death  on  our  own  part,  are  equally 
in  obedience  to  heaven-implanted  instincts,  and  the  former 
is  always  the  sign  of  an  amiable  and  tender  disposition. 
Luther  thought  that  the  punishment  of  Adam  partly  con- 
sisted in  his  long  life  of  nine  hundred  years,  seeing  that  in 
the  space  of  it  he  would  lose  so  many  friends.  They  are 
emotions,  nevertheless,  which  require  to  be  controlled,  and 
which  demand,  no  less,  that  they  shall  not  be  perverted. 


Henry  Tajior,  Notes  from  Life.’ 


392 


TRUE  WA^  TO  HONOR  THE  DEAD. 


Our  moral  and  intellectual  knowledge  we  should  ever  allow 
to  remind  us  of  the  high  purposes  they  are  intended  to  serve, 
and  to  lift  us  out  of  useless  and  ungrateful  regrets.  The 
Creator  disposes  us  to  be  grieved  at  the  decease  of  our 
friends,  in  order  that  all  humane  and  kindly  feelings  may 
be  awakened  and  deepened.  It  is  for  the  sake  of  the  sur- 
vivors that  he  leads  us  to  sorrow  for  those  who  die;  that  the 
wretchedness  it  is  to  be  bereaved  of  those  we  love,  with  the 
inevitable  reflection  that  enters  into  it  of  how  much  we  have 
left  undone  that  would  have  contributed  to  their  happiness, 
may  incite  us  to  be  more  generous  to  those  who  are  with  us 
still.  True  mourning  for  the  dead  is  to  live  as  they  desire 
we  should  do,  and  as  we  feel  most  pleasure  in  having  others 
live  towards  ourselves.  Any  other  is  little  different  from 
selfishness.  “We  do  not  honor  the  dead  by  withdrawing 
our  sympathy  from  the  living,  or  neglecting  occasions  of 
being  as  useful  to  them  as  we  were  to  the  individual  we 
mourn.  No  man  loses  by  death  the  whole  of  his  friends  and 
acquaintance,  and  can  say  that  his  generation  has  left  him 
alone.  The  place  of  those  who  are  gone  will  be  supplied  by 
others;  the  circle  perpetually  renews  itself;  to  determine 
that  none  can  or  shall  be  so  good  in  our  eyes  as  the  departed, 
is  at  once  to  behave  uncharitably  to  mankind,  and  to  refuse 
the  compensations  which  God  provides.’’  Thus  does  the 
death,  so  called,  of  those  of  our  friends  and  companions  who 
precede  us  in  the  return  to  youth,  provide  us  with  the  most 
favorable  opportunity  of  testing  how  much  life  there  is  in 
ourselves.  For  the  value  and  reality  of  a friend  consist, 
essentially,  in  liis  influence  on  the  development  of  our  affec- 
tions, cliarrning  them,  as  with  a song,  into  love  of  the  Good 
and  Jleautiful,  and  this,  to  the  soul  that  is  in  right  order, 
tlie  mere  dissolution  of  the  body  but  little  hinders.  All  that 
is  dearest  and  loveliest  in  those  who  go  first,  all  that  makes 
it  giV)d  for  our  souls  to  possess  such  treasures,  remains  with 


DEATH  NOT  A MISFORTUNE. 


393 


US,  if  wc  love  truly,  after  they  are  gone.  Friends,  parents, 
children,  brothers,  sisters,  though  they  may  quit  their  accus- 
tomed places,  and  be  no  more  seen,  die  to  us  only  when  in 
our  inconstancy  we  forget  them.  Life  is  love.  So  long  as 
we  love  a thing  we  retain  it.  It  is  only  when  we  cease  to 
love  it  that  it  dies.  “To  me,  indeed,”  says  Cicero,  speaking 
of  his  lost  friend  Scipio,  “though  he  was  suddenly  snatched 
away,  Scipio  still  lives,  and  will  always  live,  for  I love  the 
virtue  of  that  man,  and  that  worth  is  not  extinguished.  If 
the  recollection  of  these  things  had  died  along  with  him,  I 
could  in  nowise  have  borne  the  loss  of  that  most  intimate 
and  affectionate  friend.  But  these  things  have  not  perished ; 
nay,  they  are  cherished  rather  and  improved  by  reflection 
and  memory.”*  Rightly  regarded,  the  death  of  a friend  is 
one  of  the  greatest  mercies  God  bestows  upon  us.  Not  only 
does  it  operate  upon  the  development  of  the  affections;  but 
“through  the  gap  which  it  makes  in  the  visible,  we  gain  a 
vision  into  the  awful,  invisible  life  of  which  it  was  for  a mo- 
ment the  semblance.  We  see  what  we  had  forgotten,  or 
never  properly  known,  that  the  life  we  lead  in  the  flesh  is 
only  the  appearance,  and  that  the  hidden  life  of  the  spirit  is 
the  reality,  and  thence  are  we  warned  from  walking  “in 
vain  show;”  for  it  is  no  other  than  walking  in  vain  show,  to 
surrender  ourselves,  as  we  are  so  prone,  to  matter  and  mate- 
rial things,  and  turn  deafly  from  the  message  of  the  spirit- 
ual.” In  its  purity,  sorrow  for  the  dead  is  a part  of  that 
elegant  sentiment  of  our  nature  which  leads  us  to  sigh  at  the 
ruin  of  the  beautiful,  wherever  it  may  pertain,  or  however 
it  may  appeal.  The  heart  of  that  man  is  not  to  be  envied, 
who  can  see  the  leaves  wither  and  the  flowers  fall,  without 
some  sentiment  of  regret,  or  who  can  pass  unnoticed  the 


* De  Amicitiaj  at  the  end. 
R 


394  DFATII  AN  OPERATION  OF  PROVIDENCE. 


dried-up  fountain,  or  the  time-worn,  roofless,  silent  abbey. 
The  tender  interest  which  every  riglitly-ordered  mind  feels 
in  the  frailty  of  the  beautiful,  alike  of  nature  and  of  art,  is 
only  a slight  tribute  of  becoming  grief  and  affection,  seeing 
that  it  IS  under  its  benign  and  humanizing  influence  that  we 
grow  in  wisdom,  and  become  conscious  of  delight;  our  sor- 
row for  the  dead,  so  lovely  as  they  were  to  our  hearts,  is  this 
self-same  tribute,  only  deserved  infinitely  better.  Far, 
accordingly,  from  our  thoughts  should  be  the  idea  of  misfor- 
tune in  connection  with  death.  ‘‘To  have  laid  a strong 
affection  down  among  the  dead,  may  be  a great  sorrow,  but 
is  not  a real  misfortune.  Whatever  one’s  after-goings  may 
be,  there  is  a deposit  for  the  future  life,  a stake  in  the  better 
country,  a part  for  the  heart  which  the  grave  keeps  holy,  in 
spite  of  the  evil  that  is  in  the  world.  The  living  may  change 
to  us,  or  we  to  them ; sin  may  divide,  strife  may  come  be- 
tween, but  through  all  times  and  fortunes,  the  dead  remain 
the  same  to  our  memories  and  loves.  The  child  taken  from 
us  long  ago  is  still  the  innocent  lamb  that  was  not  for  our 
folding;  the  early  lost  friend  is  still  the  blessed  of  our  youth, 
a hope  not  to  be  withered,  a promise  not  to  be  broken,  a 
possession  wherein  there  is  no  disappointment.” 

225.  If  it  be  inconsiderate,  or  unkind,  or  unwise,  to  mourn 
for  the  dead  merely  in  the  shape  of  regret  for  their  depar- 
ture, it  cannot  be  wisdom  to  complain  if  part  of  our  own 
time  seem  withheld.  That  a man  should  lament  at  having 
to  die,  be  it  soon  or  late,  indicates  neither  philosophy  nor 
religion.  No  one  who  is  in  a right  state  of  mind  ever  even 
thinks  about  death.  He  thinks  only  of  his  life,  knowing 
that  if  this  be  properly  regulated  and  developed,  death, 
come  when  it  may,  will  but  invigorate  and  renew  him.  It 
would  be  difficult  to  find  a greater  or  more  pernicious  error 
than  that  so  often  propounded  as  “religion,”  that  m6n 
should  be  always  looking  forward  to  their  “end.”  They 


DEATH  OCCURS  AT  THE  RIGHT  MOMENT.  395 


Bhould  never  be  looking  forward  to  their  end ; they  should 
be  too  intent  upon  their  present  True  religion  does  not 
concern  itself  as  to  how  and  when  men  die,  but  as  to  the 
quality  of  their  current  life.  Men  are  not  saved  according 
to  how  they  die,  but  according  to  how  they  live.  Death 
takes  no  man  unprepared,  whenever  it  may  come,  wherever 
he  may  be,  or  however  employed.  Neither  could  he  die  at 
a better  time,  were  he  allowed  even  to  choose  and  arrange 
for  himself ; because  God,  who  fixes  it,  is  the  only  compe- 
tent judge  of  our  spiritual  condition,  and  causes  us  to  die  at 
the  precise  moment  when  it  will  be  best  for  our  eternal  wel- 
fare, whether  we  be  tending  upwards  or  downwards.  Even 
to  the  most  wicked,  death  is  an  operation  of  mercy,  seeing 
that  it  is  of  Him  who  maketh  the  sun  of  his  love,  no  less 
than  that  of  nature,  “ to  rise  both  on  the  evil  and  on  the 
good,  and  sendeth  rain  both  on  the  just  and  on  the  unjust.’’ 
If  to  one  man  life  be  “ providentially  spared,”  the  life  of 
another  is  providentially  taken.  The  only  ground  on  which 
we  can  properly  lament  the  ending  of  our  sojourn  on  earth, 
is  that  it  prevents  our  being  any  longer  corporeally  useful 
to  others.  But  in  thinking  only  of  life,  and  never  of  death, 
we  are  not  to  think  only  of  our  ^ime-life.  We  should  think 
of  our  life  as  a stream,  which  commencing  in  a wilderness, 
presently  leaps  from  it  in  a waterfall,  and  thereafter  pursues 
its  endless  course  through  a country  infinitely  rich  and 
beautiful  with  nature,  art,  civilization,  and  religion,  refiect- 
ing  in  its  serene  and  softly  gliding  depths,  each  heavenly 
scene  it  visits.  Darwin  remarks  that  we  are  less  dazzled  by 
the  light  on  waking,  if  we  have  been  dreaming  of  visible 
objects.  Happy  are  they  who  in  this  life  dream  of  higher 
things  than  those  of  earth ! They  will  the  sooner  be  able 
to  see  the  glories  of  the  world  to  come.  Living  here  the 
true  life  of  the  soul,  we  shall  start  at  once  from  the  slumber 
of  temporal  existence  into  shining  and  intelligible  morning. 


FEAR  OF  DEATH. 


^1)6 


To  me  the  thought  of  death  is  terrible, 

Having  such  hold  on  life.  To  thee  it  is  not 
So  much  even  as  the  lifting  of  a latch ; 

Only  a step  into  the  open  air 

Out  of  a tent  already  luminous 

With  light  that  shines  through  its  transparent  walls. 


Wisdom,  then,  dictates  that  life  should  be  our  great  and 
only  regard.  For  the  first  office  of  wisdom  is  to  give  things 
their  due  valuation,  to  estimate  aright  how  much  they  are 
worth ; and  the  second  is  to  treat  them  according  to  their 
worthiness. 

226.  The /ear  of  death  is  quite  another  matter.  As  said 
above,  it  is  the  simple  emotion  of  nature,  the  play  of  a 
divinely-implanted  instinct,  and  thus  conformable  to  the 
just  order  of  things.  Virtually,  it  is  the  impulse  to  self- 
preservation,  the  profoundest  instinct  of  the  whole  animal 
creation,  seeing  that  without  it,  every  species,  man  included, 
would  soon  become  extinct.  The  innumerable  physical 
perils  which  endanger  life ; and  in  man,  the  mental  sufier- 
ings  superadded  to  them,  would  lead,  in  different  instances, 
either  to  its  accidental  loss,  or  its  willing  surrender,  almost 
as  soon  as  possessed,  and  thus  to  the  depopulating  of  the 
world.  How  rapidly  does  life  even  now  become  lost,  despite 
the  desire  to  preserve  it ! Save  for  the  great  impulse  within, 
to  Live,  whatever  it  may  cost,  the  world  would  cease  to  be 
replenished,  and  “ Be  fruitful  and  multiply”  have  been  an 
impractical  command.  Men  differ  about  arts  and  sciences, 
about  their  pleasures,  fashions,  ornaments,  and  avocations, 
but  all  are  agreed  in  the  love  of  life,  and  hate,  and  fear, 
and  flee  from  death.  “We  do  not  all  philosophize,”  says 
Clemens,  “ but  do  we  not  all  follow  after  life  ?”  “ This  tem- 

poral life,”  says  another  venerable  writer,  “ though  full  of 
labor  and  trouble,  yet  is  desired  by  all,  both  old  and  young, 


DEATH  MAY  BE  MET  CHEERFULLY. 


397 


princes  and  peasants,  wise  men  and  fools.’’*  Virtue,  wis- 
dom, poetry,  the  Bible,  are  matters  which  from  intellectual 
slow-pacedness,  or  moral  disrelish,  excite  only  moieties  of 
interest,  but  life  is  the  central,  universal,  indomitable 
solicitude. 

The  weariest  and  most  loathed  worldly  life 
That  age,  ache,  penury  or  imprisonment 
Can  lay  on  nature,  is  a paradise 
To  what  we  fear  of  death. 

Man  needs,  in  truth,  to  love  life,  if  only  from  the  immensity 
of  function  which  he  is  qualified  to  perform  ; and  doubtless 
it  is  in  order  that  he  may  avail  himself  of  his  opportunities, 
if  he  will,  and  build  up  his  futurity,  that  the  love  of  the 
merely  animal  life  is  made  so  strong  in  him ; for  this  is  the 
first  essential  to  the  incomparable  privileges  of  existence. 
It  is  by  reason  of  the  great  excellence  of  life,  as  a spiritual 
necessity,  that  the  deepest  injury  that  can  be  inflicted  is  to 
kill,  and  that  the  highest  philanthropy  and  goodness  is  to 
preserve  alive.  To  lay  down  one’s  life  for  another  implies 
the  most  ardent  of  all  possible  love,  because  it  is  the  relin- 
quishment of  our  richest  treasure. 

227.  The  man,  accordingly,  who  affects  to  regard  death 
without  fear,  must  not  expect  to  be  believed.  He  may  not 
anticipate  it  with  horror ; he  may  have  learned,  by  secret 
and  silent  preparation  of  the  heart,  and  by  accustoming 
himself  to  see  God  as  infinitely  just  and  merciful,  how  to 
meet  it  cheerfully ; he  may  be  perfectly  resigned  to  it  when 
he  sees  its  approaching  shadow  ; but  still  he  dreads,  and 
were  the  spirit  not  withdrawn  by  him  who  gave  it,  would 
never  part  with  it  of  himself.  When  death  is  actually  about 
to  happen,  the  fear  of  it  is  in  great  measure  lost.  At  all 


34 


* Lactantius,  Book  iii.,  chap.  12. 


898 


SENSATIONS  OF  THE  DYING. 


events  it  is  not  common,  as  ’well  known  to  those  wliose  pro- 
fessions lead  them  to  the  pillows  of  the  dying.  This,  again, 
is  a vast  mercy  and  providence  of  God,  both  to  the  individ- 
ual and  to  the  bystanders.  Given  to  us  when  it  is  proper 
we  should  live,  it  is  mercifully  taken  away  when  we  are 
going  to  depart.  AVhcn  we  fear  death  most,  supposing  that 
is,  that  there  is  no  sufficient  physical  reason  for  the  fear,  we 
are  probably  entering  on  our  highest  usefulness  to  the  world. 
AVhen  fear  does  manifest  itself  at  the  period  of  approaching 
death,  it  is  rather  as  the  result  of  some  diseased  or  enfeebled 
state  of  mind,  usually  induced  by  spurious  religious  teach- 
ing ; or  of  vivid  presentiments  of  what  a wicked  life  is  about 
to  lead  to  ; than  as  a part  of  the  animal  instinct  which  pre- 
viously had  ruled.  As  a rule,  death,  at  the  last  hour,  like 
Satan,  appears  only  to  those  who  have  reason  to  be  afraid 
of  him,  and  rarely  even  to  these.  Nothing  is  more  decep- 
tive than  the  manner  in  which  a person  dies,  though  often 
made  so  much  of.  The  wickedest  die  “in  peace”  no  sel- 
domer  than  the  righteous,  though  it  is  the  peace  of  torpor  in 
one  case,  of  piety  in  the  other.  The  inmost  ground  of  men’s 
fear  of  death  is  consciousness  of  severance  from  God,  th  rough 
disobedience  to  his  law.  Brutes  fear  to  die  simply  because 
of  their  instinct  to  preserve  life,  or  from  the  purely  animal 
feeling.  Men  fear  to  die  from  a twofold  ground;  super- 
ficially, from  the  same  instinct  as  that  of  the  brutes ; in- 
teriorly, from  consciousness  of  this  severance  from  their 
Maker.  God  desires  that  all  men  should  be  united  to  him, 
and  to  this  end  has  given  them  adequate  spiritual  faculties, 
wherein  they  shall  exercise  the  life  which  conducts  to  heaven. 
In  proportion  as  they  do  this,  and  thereby  attain  to  con- 
sciousness of  union  with  Him,  the  idea  of  death  departs 
from  them,  because  they  are  living  with  the  Fountain  of 
I^ife ; the  less  tliat  they  feel  united,  the  more  do  they  think 
of  death,  and  fear  to  die.  While,  accordingly,  the  righteous 


WHY  IS  MAN  IMMORTAL? 


399 


man  views  his  physical  death  with  no  alarm,  the  unrighteous 
carries  his  fear  with  him  even  into  the  future  state.  Fear 
of  death  is  not  so  much  according  to  the  place  a person  is  in, 
as  according  to  the  condition  of  his  heart.  It  is  its  own  dis- 
solution of  which  the  soul,  in  its  secret  chambers,  is  afraid ; 
and  the  sense  of  dislocation  from  God  which  gives  the  real 
agony  to  the  expectation  of  death  here,  will  constitute  a simi- 
lar but  infinitely  severer  torment  hereafter;  as  in  heaven  the 
greatest  blessing  will  be  the  sensation  of  coherence  with  God, 
or  Life.  To  fancy,  as  many  do,  that  death  is  not  only  terri- 
ble and  affrighting,  but  physically  painful,  is  quite  a mistake, 
being  to  look  for  sensibility  in  the  loss  of  sensibility.  Death 
is  a sleep  rather  than  a sensation,  a suspension  of  our  faculties 
rather  than  a conflict  with  them  ; instead  of  a time  of  suffer- 
ing, a time  of  deepening  unconsciousness.  Dr.  Baillie  tells 
us  that  his  observation  of  death-beds  inclines  him  to  the  firm 
belief  that  nature  intended  we  should  go  out  of  the  world 
as  unconsciously  as  we  come  into  it.  The  moment,  says 
Mrs.  Jameson,  in  which  the  spirit  meets  death  is  probably 
like  that  in  which  it  is  embraced  by  sleep.  To  be  conscious 
of  the  immediate  transition  from  the  waking  to  the  sleeping 
state  never,  I suppose,  happened  to  any  one.’’ 

228.  Why  is  man  immortal  ? Not  simply  because  the  soul  is 
non-material.  We  must  not  suppose,  remarks  Warburton, 
that  because  the  soul  is  immaterial,  it  is  necessarily  imper- 
ishable. Though  it  does  not  dissolve  after  the  manner  of 
matter,  that  is  no  reason  why  it  should  not  be  susceptible  of 
extinction  in  some  other  way.*  To  suppose  otherwise  would 
be  to  esteem  it  of  the  same  substance  as  the  Creator,  instead 
of  one  of  his  creatures,  as  it  is.  Of  all  the  arguments  for 
the  immortality  of  the  soul,  that  of  its  being  “immaterial” 


* Divine  Legation  of  Moses,  Book  ix.,  chap.  1. 


400  IMMATERIALITY  OF  THE  SOUL  NO  ARGUMENT. 

is  unquestionably  the  weakest.  “The  immortality  of 
the  soul/’  says  Dr.  Knapp,  in  the  Christian  Theology, 
“ neither  depends  for  proof  upon  its  immateriality,  nor  from 
the  latter  can  it  be  certainly  deduced.”  To  the  same  effect 
is  the  remark  of  Mr.  Isaac  Taylor : — “ As  to  the  pretended 
demonstrations  of  immortality  drawn  from  the  assumed 
simplicity  and  indestructibility  of  the  soul  as  an  immaterial 
substance,  they  appear  altogether  inconclusive.”*  It  would 
be  easy  to  show  indeed,  that  he  who  affirms  man  to  be  im- 
mortal simply  because  of  the  immateriality  of  the  soul,  is 
bound  to  affirm  likewise  the  immortality  not  only  of  the 
nobler  animals,  but  even  of  the  microscopic  animalculse, 
which  would  be  contrary  alike  to  reason  and  revelation. 
Bishop  Butler’s  argument  for  the  immortality  of  the  soul, 
namely,  that  in  fatal  diseases  the  mind  often  remains  vigor- 
ous to  the  last,  though  commonly  esteemed  one  of  the 
strongest,  is  actually  of  no  more  worth  than  the  argument 
of  immateriality.  Any  function  will  remain  vigorous  to  the 
last  if  the  organ  of  its  exercise  be  not  the  seat  of  the  disease. 
Immortality  inheres  in  the  soul  of  man  not  because  it  is 
immaterial  or  spiritual  as  to  substance,  but  by  virtue  of  the 
“breath  of  lives”  which  God  breathed  into  man  in  the 
beginning ; the  life  of  intelligence  to  hnoiv  him,  and  the  life 
of  power  and  adaptedness  to  love  him.  It  is  through  the 
possession  of  these  two  faculties  that  man  lives  forever,  in 
happiness  or  in  misery,  according  as  they  are  honored  or 
abused,  and  not  merely  because  he  possesses  a soul  or  spi- 
ritual body.  They  remain  with  him,  and  thus  keep  him 
alive  forever,  because  given  by  infinite,  divine,  unchangeable 
Love,  which,  whatever  it  gives  once,  it  gives  everlastingly. 
Were  God  to  withdraw  life  from  man,  even  for  an  instant, 


Physical  Tlieory  of  another  Life,  page  254. 


SUPPOSED  IMMOIITALITY  OF  BRUTES. 


401 


he  would  not  be  the  Faithful  and  the  True.  The  very 
object  of  the  creation  of  man  was,  that  a being  should  exist 
competent  ^to  receive  and  reciprocate  this  love.  Love  lives 
by  reciprocity.  Its  most  exquisite  satisfaction  and  delight 
is  at  once  to  love  and  be  loved  back  again  by  the  chosen 
one  of  the  bosom  and  the  offspring  of  the  body.  Not  simply 
to  exhibit  his  power  or  his  skill,  did  God  create  the  uni- 
verse, but  that  his  love  might  have  an  arena,  and  that  hap- 
piness inexpressible  should  animate  innumerable  hearts.  To 
think  of  God  aright,  we  must  think  at  the  same  moment  of 
a universe  of  intelligent  and  feeling  creatures,  for  each  idea 
is  needful  to  the  true  reading  of  the  other.  Any  idea  of 
God  which  does  not  include  man,  is  low  and  imperfect. 
Banish  then  the  fancy  that  man  is  immortal  because  he  has 
an  ‘TinmateriaF’  soul.  It  needs  to  be  something  more  than 
“immaterial;”  it  must  be  adapted  to  religious  exercises;  just 
as  it  avails  nothing  to  the  Ourang  Outang  to  be  organized, 
he  must  be  adapted  to  talk  and  to  manipulate,  if  he  is  to 
enter  the  ranks  of  humanity. 

229.  It  is  because  these  two  faculties — intelligence  to 
know  and  adaptedness  to  love — are  not  possessed,  that 
brutes  are  only  temporal.  They  cannot  entertain  heavenly 
ideas — they  cannot  feel  religious  emotions; — as  Wesley  beau- 
tifully expresses  it,  they  are  not  “ creatures  capable  of  God.” 
Unprofitably  indeed  has  the  time  been  spent  by  those  who 
have  sought  to  show  that  brutes  are  immortal,  or  even  have 
any  claim  to  be.  The  chief  argument  with  those  who  have 
espoused  the  notion,  has  been  the  “justice  of  God,”  which 
requires,  they  contend,  that  brutes  should  live  over  again, 
in  order  to  be  recompensed  for  the  evils  they  suffer  here. 
This,  indeed,  is  the  only  argument,  as  there  is  nothing  in 
brutes  which  shows  them  to  be  placed  here  for  probationary 
and  preparative  discipline,  as  man  is ; such  discipline  being 
not  only  needful  to  heaven,  and  the  reason  of  man’s  being 


402 


BRUTES  HAVE  NO  FEAR  OF  DEATH. 


made  a free  moral  agent,  but  one  of  the  best  natural  proofs 
of  the  destiny  of  him  who  is  subjected  to  it.  Brutes  have 
none  of  the  pains,  anxieties,  and  disquietudes  arising  from 
moral  causes,  to  which  man  is  subject.  They  have  none  of 
his  love  of  virtue,  thirst  of  knowledge,  or  intense  and  con- 
stant longing  after  such  a degree  of  happiness  as  this  life 
not  only  never  gives,  but  is  absolutely  incapable  of  afford- 
ing. The  plea  above-mentioned  is  therefore  the  only  one. 
But  is  it  a reasonable  plea  ? That  the  infliction  of  cruelties 
on  brutes  by  man  must  one  day  be  accounted  for  by  him  is 
certain,  because  of  the  great  and  shameful  wickedness  of  ill- 
treating  and  giving  pain  to  the  defenseless.  Probably, 
however,  all  these  cruelties  and  pains  appear  to  brutes  as  so 
many  accidents,  devoid  of  meaning  or  intentional  harm,  and 
no  more  than  the  fall  upon  them  of  a tree  or  a house.  That 
they  suffer  with  the  intensity  commonly  supposed,  may  also 
be  seriously  doubted.  In  reasoning  concerning  the  feelings 
of  the  lower  animals,  we  are  too  apt  to  reason  from  our 
own — a course  which  cannot  but  lead  to  error.  That  which 
so  enormously  aggravates  physical  suffering  in  man,  is  the 
operation  of  his  imagination.  Brutes,  being  destitute  of  this 
faculty,  perceive  only  by  moments,  without  reflecting  upon 
past  and  future,  and  time  and  life  without  reflection  are,  as 
we  all  know,  next  neighbors  to  no-time  and  no-life.  Suffer- 
ing, alone  and  definite,  is  incomparably  less  afflictive  than 
when  combined  with  various  and  indefinite  trouble  of  mind. 
Let  none  suppose  that  divulging  this  to  mankind  at  large 
would  be  to  the  prejudice  of  the  brute  creation.  The  gentle 
and  kind  will  always  treat  brutes  gently  and  kindly,  what- 
ever their  feeling  or  want  of  feeling ; while  the  cruel  will 
always  treat  them  cruelly,  as  they  do  their  own  species. 

230.  Whether  or  no,  that  pain,  hunger,  thirst,  and  other 
such  “evils,’’  (which  are  all  that  brutes  can  be  seen  to  en- 
dure,) require  compensation  in  another  life,  is  after  all,  no 


SUFFERINGS  AND  ENJOYMENTS  OF  BRUTES.  403 


argument,  because  it  has  yet  to  be  proved  that  these  are 
evils;  and  query,  is  not  the  physical  enjoyment  of  all  crea- 
tures quite  a balance  against  their  physical  sufferings?  The 
enjoyment  of  the  brute  creation  is  immense.  We  cannot 
turn  our  eyes  in  any  direction,  but  we  witness  an  exuberance 
of  it.  Earth,  air,  and  water  alike  swarm  with  beings  full 
of  the  delight  of  living,  and  collectively,  perhaps  experienc- 
ing as  large  an  amount  of  agreeable  physical  sensation  as 
does  the  total  of  the  human  race.  No  small  part  of  this 
happiness  is  of  man’s  own  bounty  to  them,  though  certainly 
for  his  own  interest  in  the  end.  ‘‘  He  spreads  the  verdant 
mead,  and  lays  out  pleasure-grounds  for  the  horse,  the  ox, 
the  sheep,  and  the  deer;  and  the  pang  that  deprives  them 
of  existence  is  as  nothing  compared  to  their  antecedent  life 
of  luxury.  Were  there  no  men  to  till  the  ground,  the  earth 
would  not  maintain  a thousandth  part  of  the  animals  it  does 
at  present,  and  the  want  of  cultivation  would  also  unfit  it 
for  the  mass  of  living  insect  enjoyment  with  which  it  now 
swarms.”  Besides,  in  the  lower  grades  of  animals,  w^hose 
numbers  compared  with  those  of  the  higher  kinds,  or  quad- 
rupeds and  birds,  are  as  the  sands  of  the  sea,  physical  sufier- 
ing  is  little,  if  at  all  experienced.  As  regards  these,  accord- 
ingly, the  plea  of  recompense  cannot  stand,  and  this  is 
enough  to  condemn  the  whole  hypothesis.  When  we  see 
fishes  and  insects  apparently  writhing  in  pain,  it  is  not  that 
they  are  in  a state  of  agonizing  torture,  but  that  they  are 
struggling  to  be  free.  Those  vehement  efforts  come  simply 
of  impatience  of  control,  a desire  common  to  every  living 
creature.  Nothing  that  has  life  but  rebels  against  captivity. 
Imprison  even  a plant,  and  it  becomes  as  restless,  in  its 
sphere  of  being,  as  a chained  animal.  Pain,  in  fact,  is  so 
slight  in  the  humbler  classes  of  animals  as  in  no  way  to 
admit  of  comparison  with  what  it  is  in  man  and  the  crea- 
tures he  has  domesticated.  Every  entomologist  knows  how 


404 


OPINIONS  or  SOUTHEY,  AC. 


indifferent  are  insects  to  mutilations  that  would  be  instant 
death  to  a quadruped;  Mr.  Stoddart,  in  his  entertaining 
little  volume,  ‘^Angling  Reminiscences,”  has  put  it  beyond 
all  possibility  of  doubt  that  fishes  feel  no  hurt  from  the 
hook. 

231.  The  doctrine  of  the  immortality  of  brutes  is  an  ex- 
ceedingly ancient  one.  The  Indian,  whose  blissful  heaven 
consists  of  exhaustless  hunting-grounds,  does  but  reflect  from 
the  forests  of  the  West,  what  is  thousands  of  years  old  in 
the  Odyssey:  “After  him  I beheld  vast  Orion,  hunting  in 
the  meadows  of  asphodel,  beasts  which  he  had  killed  in  the 
desert  mountains,  having  a brazen  club  in  his  hands,  for- 
ever unbroken.”  Virgil,  in  his  sixth  book,  enumerates  ani- 
mals seen  by  ^neas  in  the  kingdom  of  Pluto;  Hercules, 
in  Theocritus,  finishes  the  narration  of  his  great  exploit  of 
slaying  the  Nemean  lion  by  saying  that  “Hades  received  a 
monster  soul.”  The  same  belief  existed  among  the  Druids, 
though  doubtless  a transplantation  from  the  East;  the  war- 
rior shades,  celebrated  in  song  by  the  son  of  Fingal,  love  all 
the  amusements  of  their  youth;  they  bend  the  bow,  and 
pursue  the  resuscitated  stag.  Authors  who  have  left  treat- 
ises on  the  subject  are  Crocius,  Ribovius,  Aubry,  Gimma, 
&c.,  and  in  our  own  country,  Richard  Dean,  Curate  of 
Middleton  in  1768.  “As  brutes,”  says  the  latter,  “have 
accompanied  man  in  all  his  capital  calamities,  (as  deluges, 
famines,  and  pestilences,)  so  will  they  attend  him  in  his  final 
deliverance.”  Southey,  Lamartine,  and  Miss  Seward  have 
written  beautiful  verses  expressing  their  belief  in  the  immor- 
tality of  brutes.  The  Penscellwood  Papers”  (Bentley, 
1846)  may  be  consulted  for  an  essay  to  the  same  purpose; 
Mrs.  Jameson’s  C()mmon-])lace  Book  (pp.  207-212)  for 
selected  oj)inions;  and  Bonnet’s  Pallnghiesie  Philosophiqiie ; 
Idi'GH  mr  Viiat  .futiir  des  Animaiix,  ((Euvres,  Tom.  vii.)  for  a 
long  and  minute  argument.  Dr.  Barclay  (Inquiry,  &c.,  p. 


BRUTES  NOT  IMMORTAL. 


406 


399,)  pleads  that  for  aught  we  know,  brutes  may  be  immor- 
tal, “reserved  as  forming  many  of  the  accustomed  links  in 
the  chain  of  being,  and  by  preserving  the  chain  entire,  con- 
tribute, in  the  future  state,  as  they  do  here,  to  the  general 
beauty  and  variety  of  the  universe,  a source,  not  only  of 
sublime,  but  of  perpetual,  delight.”  It  is  true  that  the 
forms  of  animals  will  be  thus  needed ; it  is  true  also  that  they 
will  appear  in  the  scenery  of  the  future  world,  but  it  is  not 
true  that  those  forms  will  be  there  by  resurrection  from 
earth. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


THE  hesvrjiection  and  the  future  fife. 

232.  Concerning  no  subject  of  vital  interest  to  the 
human  mind  are  theoretical  doctrine, and  familiar,  practical 
belief,  so  widely  discrepant,  as  in  regard  to  that  most  solemn 
and  awful  event  of  human  life,  the  llesurrection  after  death. 
We  say  “of  life’’  because  life  and  immortality,  rightly 
viewed,  are  not  two  distinct  things,  any  more  than  time  and 
eternity  are.  Life  runs  on  into  immortality,  partitioned 
from  it  only  by  a thin,  dissolving  veil  of  flesh  and  blood ; 
Time  is  simply  that  part  of  Eternity  in  which  we  exist  now. 
Man  isy  not  to  be  immortal.  Although  the  true  idea  of  the 
Resurrection  has  been  incidentally  stated  in  other  places,  a 
distinct  chapter  upon  its  philosophy  and  phenomena  becomes 
of  the  highest  importance  to  our  present  inquiry.  As  with 
many  other  topics,  it  has  been  impossible  wholly  to  postpone 
it ; some  of  what  we  have  now  to  present  in  a connected 
form  may  in  consequence  want  the  air  of  absolute  novelty; 
but  by  concentrating  the  whole,  perhaps  even  the  points 
already  touched  upon  will  become  more  intelligible,  and 
thus  render  the  new  allusion  to  them  not  unwelcome. 

233.  Doctrine  says  the  Resurrection  is  to  happen  in  the 
remote  future;  Belief  says  it  occurs  simultaneously  with 
dissolution.  Who  ever  speaks  of  a departed  friend  except 
as  having  “ gone  to  heaven,”  tliat  is,  of  living  there  as  a 
glorified  human  being,  in  the  enjoyment  of  every  bodily 
member,  and  every  mental  faculty  and  emotion,  needful  to 

400 


RESURRECTION  IMMEDIATE. 


407 


the  realization  of  celestial  happiness?  Who  ever  speaks, 
we  say,  except  of  their  having  gone — mark,  not  as  to  go,  at 
some  indefinitely  distant  period,  but  as  having  already  and 
absolutely  gonef  Unwilling  as  men  may  be  to  allow  in 
words  that  the  soul  is  a spiritual  body,  independent  of  the 
material  body,  and  capable  of  complete  existence  after  part- 
ing with  the  latter;  to  believe  that  the  departed  is  “in 
heaven”  is  necessarily  to  believe  it ; also  to  believe  in  imme- 
diate resurrection,  and  what  is  of  no  less  importance,  in 
immediate  “judgment.”  In  every  age  has  that  great  unim- 
peachable intuition  of  the  spiritual  body,  and  of  its  imme- 
diate resurrection,  been  the  faith  of  sorrowing  men.  What- 
ever light  Scripture  may  have  thrown  upon  death,  to  this 
the  human  heart  cleaves  with  firm,  undeviating  affection. 
However  opposed  in  other  things,  in  this.  Pagan  and  Chris- 
tian are  agreed — death  is  immediate  entrance  into  the  Better 
Land.  How  beautiful  is  the  monody  of  the  old  Greek 
poet — 

“ Prote,  thou  art  not  dead,  but  hast  removed  to  a better  place,  and 
dwellest  in  the  Islands  of  the  Blest,  among  abundant  banquets, 
where  thou  art  delighted,  while  tripping  along  the  Elysian  plains 
amongst  soft  flowers,  far  from  all  ills.  The  winter  pains  thee  not, 
neither  does  heat  nor  disease  trouble  thee,  nor  hunger  nor  thirst ; 
nor  is  the  life  of  man  any  longer  desired  by  thee,  for  thou  livest  in 
the  pure  splendor  of  Olympus.’^ 

Cyrus,  on  his  death-bed,  desired  the  Persians  to  rejoice  at 
his  funeral,  and  not  to  lament  as  if  he  were  really  dead. 
The  Arabs  regard  it  impious  to  mourn  for  the  deceased, 
“ that  is,”  say  they,  “ for  those  who  are  with  Mahomet  in 
Paradise.”  “ Dear  Sir,”  writes  Jeremy  Taylor  to  Evelyn, 
in  1656,  “I  am  in  some  little  djiaorder  by  reason  of  the 
death  of  a little  child  of  mine,  a boy  that  lately  made  me 
very  glaa ; but  now  he  rejoices  in  his  little  orb,  while  we 
think  and  sigh,  and  long  to  be  as  safe  as  he  is.”  Her^, 


408 


A MAN  DOES  NOT  REALLY  DIE. 


indeed,  is  the  mourner’s  consolation.  When  the  loved  and 
lost  are  thought  of  by  tlie  calm  light  of  the  great  and 
sacred  truth  that  ‘‘  there  is  a spiritual  body,”  they  cease  to 
be  dead ; their  resurrection  has  already  taken  place.  The 
mind  that  is  in  a right  state  recoils  from  the  chill  ideas  of 
the  coffin,  and  putrefaction,  and  inanimateness,  and  fastens 
on  the  sweet  conviction  that  the  vanished  one  is  alive,  and 
in  the  enjoyment  of  serenest  happiness  and  rest.  It  thinks 
of  the  corpse  in  the  grave  merely  as  an  old  garment,  conse- 
crated indeed  by  the  loved  being  who  had  used  it,  but  of  no 
value  in  itself,  and  soon  to  be  the  dust  from  which  it  was 
moulded.  Never  was  there  a more  lovely  illustration  of 
this  faith  than  the  epitaph  on  the  mother  and  her  infant  in 
the  Greenwood  Cemetery  at  New  York:  “Is  it  well  with 
thee  ? Is  it  well  with  the  child  ? And  she  answered.  It  is 
well.”  (2  Kings  iv.  26.)  That  part  of  the  great  mystery 
which  concerns  the  souls  of  little  children  who  die,  and  their 
development  in  the  future  life,  is  the  most  pleasing  perhaps 
of  all  for  our  contemplation.  Whether  do  they  remain 
little  children,  or  expand  to  the  full,  beautiful,  noble  human 
stature  ? Either  way,  those  who  have  lost  such  a one,  are 
never  without  a little  child  to  love  and  nestle  in  their 
hearts.  The  others  grow  up  and  become  men  and  women, 
but  this  one  stays  with  them  forever. 

234.  In  order  to  a true  idea  of  the  Eesurrection,  it  re- 
quires accordingly,  first  that  we  should  have  a true  idea  of 
what  the  soul  is ; second,  a true  idea  of  what  constitutes 
Death.  The  soul,  as  we  have  seen  above,  is  no  mere  ap- 
pendage to  man,  formless  and  insubstantial,  but  man  him- 
self. Death,  as  we  have  also  seen,  is  simply  the  departure 
of  man  from  his  temporal,  material  body,  and  his  conscious- 
ness of  the  material  world ; and  entrance  upon  full  con- 
sciousness of  the  spiritual  world.  The  fundamental  truth 
of  the  whole  matter  simplifies  therefore  into  this — the  dL^- 


POPULAR  FICTIONS  OF  BURIAL. 


409 


tinctiveness  of  ourselves  from  our  material  bodies,  “ It  is  the 
soul/’  says  Hierocles,  that  is  you,  the  body  that  is  yours!^"^ 
What  we  are  is  one  thing,  what  we  have,  or  some  time  have 
had,  round  about  us,  is  another.  We  must  not  confound 
them.  It  is  because  they  are  confounded,  that  people  cannot 
see  how  the  soul  can  be  independent,  and  live  and  act  sepa- 
rately and  apart.  As  we  cast  off  our  clothes  at  night,  and 
wake  to  the  world  of  visions,  so  is  it  at  death — we  cast  off 
our  temporary  material  bodies,  which  are  only  so  much 
apparel,  and  become  conscious  of  the  world  of  spirits.  A 
man  never  really  dies,  A change  comes  over  us,  but  life  is 
never  really  extinguished,  nor  for  one  instant  suspended. 
The  dead,  as  we  call  them,  are  no  more  dead  than  we  our- 
selves. Solemn  is  the  thought,  but  somewhere  our  departed 
friends  are  every  one  of  them  alive,  consciously,  vigorously, 
actively  alive. 

235.  Further,  as  the  soul  is  the  man,  and  the  material 
body  only  his  house  while  upon  earth,  a man  is  never  really 
buried.  No  human  being,  since  the  beginning  of  the  world, 
has'  ever  yet  been  buried,  no,  not  even  for  a few  minutes. 
Buried ! How  can  a living  soul  be  buried  ? Man  is  where 
his  conscious  being  is,  his  memory,  his  love,  his  imagination ; 
and  since  these  cannot  be  put  into  the  grave,  the  man  is 
never  put  there.  So  far  from  being  pur  “ last  home,”  the 
grave  is  not  a home  at  all,  for  we  never  are  laid  in  it  or  go 
near  it.  “ How  shall  we  bury  you  ?”  said  Crito  to  Socrates, 
before  he  drank  the  poison.  “ Just  as  you  please,”  replied 
Socrates,  “ if  only  you  can  catch  me !”  Socrates  knew  bet- 
ter than  that  he  should  die.  He  saw  through  death  as  a 


* yap  ct  fi  ipvxh*  rd  crCSfxa,  aov.  Commentaries  on  the  Golden 
Verses  of  Pythagoras,  (Ed.  Needham,  1709,  p.  114).  Many  other 
observations  of  the  same  tenor  occur  in  this  truly  philosophical 
writer. 

35 


S 


410 


TOMBSTONE  INSCRIPTIONS. 


vapor  curtain,  through  which  he  would  burst  into  another 
life.  I shall  not  die;  I shall  never  die,’’  is  what  every  man 
ought  to  say,  and  energetically  to  think.  “ I shall  never 
die;  I shall  never  be  buried;  bury  me  if  you  can  catch  me!” 
Burying,  as  commonly  spoken  of,  is  a gross,  material  idea, 
thoroughly  vulgar,  unpoetical,  and  unscrij)tural,  the  result 
of  materialism  in  theology,  and  a striking  proof  of  the 
small  amount  of  spirituality  current  in  the  popular  reli- 
gious creed.  To  talk  of  a man  being  “ buried,”  put  into 
the  earth,  and  lying  there,  while  his  soul  is  somewhere  else, 
is  no  less  false  and  illogical  to  the  understanding  than  it  is 
offensive  to  the  feelings.  ‘‘We  ought  to  rise  above  the  use  of 
such  base  phraseology.  We  ought  even  to  teach  our  children, 
from  the  earliest,  that  there  are  no  men  and  women  really 
in  the  grave ; and  truly  they  better  understand  an.d  receive 
this  great  truth  than  many  of  their  elders.  How  difficult 
to  make  a child  believe  that  its  mother,  or  father,  or  bro- 
ther, is  below  the  sods ! And  how  foolish  the  efforts  some- 
times made  to  force  it  to  believe  the  degrading  falsehood  1 
Leave  it  alone  to  its  heaven-born  thoughts.  Why  attempt 
to  destroy  the  being  of  one  who  is  merely  absent  to  us, 
as  we  shall  all  be,  ere  long,  to  others?”  The  very  tomb- 
stone is  inscribed  falsely.  It  says  “ Here  lies  the  body  of 

.”  Rather  should  it  be,  “Here  lies  the  last  of  the 

bodies  of ,”  since  the  body  we  depart  out  of  at  death 

is  only  the  concluding  one  of  a long  series,  every  one  of 
them  quite  as  worthy  of  commemoration.  The  earth,  let  us 
remember,  too,  does  not  itself  open  the  grave  we  deem  so 
frightful.  It  is  man  who  digs  it,  and  who  peoples  it  with 
the  horror  which  he  charges  on  it.  People  talk  again  of 
the  “worms”  which  devour  the  dead.  Here  is  another  fal- 
sity. Our  bodies  moulder  and  decay,  but  they  are  not 
eaten.  Worms  are  engendered,  not  by  corruption,  but  by 
flics,  who  must  lay  the  eggs  from  which  they  issue,  and  no 


DEAD  BODIES  ABE  CAST  OFF  GABMENTS.  411 

flies  have  power  to  penetrate  so  far  into  the  earth  as  the 
depth  at  which  the  dead  are  usually  laid.  Wrong  feeling 
about  dead  bodies  and  the  grave  does  more  than  anything 
else  to  vitiate  religious  teaching,  to  hinder  consolation  for 
the  loss  of  friends,  and  in  general,  to  mar  faith  in  immortal- 
ity. Happy  the  day  when  all  shall  learn  that  the  corpses 
of  the  departed  are  no  more  than  relinquished  garments  of 
living  men  and  women — temples  of  God  in  which  divine 
service  is  over  and  finished,  the  chanting  hushed,  the  aisles 
deserted,  and  to  be  contemplated  with  as  little  terror  and 
revolting  as  we  gaze  at  the  silent  ruins  of  Rivaulx  or  Tin- 
tern  before  altogether  ‘‘  wede  away”  by  Time. 

236.  The  conviction  of  our  departed  friends  being  alive 
in  heaven,  fashions  our  own  secret  expectations.  No  one 
ever  imagines  from  his  heart,  that  he  is  to  lie  indefinitely  in 
the  earth,  but  rather  that  death  will  be  to  greet  and  be 
greeted  by  old,  well-known  faces,  shining  in  the  sweetest 
lineaments  of  love — that  as  we  were  received  when  as  little 
infants  we  entered  this  world,  with  tenderness  and  afiection, 
so  shall  we  be  when  as  men  and  women  we  enter  the  next ; 
that,  in  short,  all  pleasant  things  and  states  will  immediately 
supervene,  the  same,  yet  inexpressibly  more  bright,  all  the 
dreams  found,  and  only  the  sleep  lost.  It  is  enough  that 
we  have  a spontaneous  hope  of  it,  for  the  hopes  of  the  heart 
are  rarely  deceptions. 

My  sprightly  neighbor,  gone  before, 

To  that  unknown  and  silent  shore, 

Shall  we  not  meet  as  heretofore, 

Some  summer  morning  ? 

When  from  thy  cheerful  face,  a ray 
Of  bliss  hath  struck  across  the  day, 

A bliss  that  would  not  go  away, 

A sweet  forewarning  ? 


412  TRUE  AND  FALSE  EMBLEMS  OF  DEATH. 

Intuition  is  worth  volumes  of  logic.  “Where,  in  the  plan 
of  nature,’’  says  the  German  writer  Reimar,  “ do  we  find 
instincts  falsified  ? Where  do  we  see  an  instance  of  a crea- 
ture instinctively  craving  a certain  kind  of  food,  in  a place 
where  no  sucli  food  can  be  found  ? Are  the  swallows  de- 
ceived by  their  instinct  when  they  fly  away  from  clouds  and 
storms  to  seek  a warmer  country?  Do  they  not  find  a 
milder  climate  beyond  the  water  ? When  the  May-flies  and 
other  aquatic  insects  leave  their  shells,  expand  their  wings, 
and  soar  from  the  water  into  the  air,  do  they  not  find  ’an 
atmosphere  fitted  to  sustain  them  in  a new  stage  of  life? 
Yes.  The  voice  of  nature  does  not  utter  false  prophecies. 
It  is  the  call,  the  invitation  of  the  Creator  addressed  to  his 
creatures.  And  if  this  be  true  with  regard  to  the  impulses 
of  physical  life,  why  should  it  not  be  true  with  regard  to 
the  superior  instincts  of  the  soul  ?”* 

237.  Holding  such  views  in  their  hearts,  and  daily  read- 
ing the  book  wherein  they  are  confirmed,  is  it  not  strange 
that  Christians  should  use  for  the  symbol  of  death,  the 
unconsoling,  not  to  say  disgusting  and  disheartening,  skull 
and  cross-bones  ? What  a Sadducean  usage  compared  with 
the  beautiful  custom  of  the  ancient  Greeks,  who,  though 
“ pagans,”  saw  death  imaged  rather  in  the  living,  glossy, 
Evergreen  tree,  and  planted  accordingly,  beside  their  tombs, 
the  cypress  and  the  yew.  In  ancient  funeral  ceremonies 
were  used,  for  the  same  reason,  branches  of  myrtle  and 
arbutus,  as  shown  by  the  beautiful  allusions  in  the  Electra 
of  Euripides,  and  the  11th  book  of  the  -zEneid.  Certainly 
the  former  custom  is  still  extant,  but  not  so  its  intrinsic 
significance,  or  whence  the  dull  surmises  that  have  been  set 
forth  to  exj)lain  its  retention  ? That  which  is  perennially 


* Tlie  Principal  Truths  of  Natural  Religion  Defended  and  Illus- 
trated, in  Nine  Dissertations. — English  Trans.^  1766. 


CHEERFULNESS  OF  DEATH. 


413 


fair  and  cheerful  is  the  true  emblem  of  death ; not  that 
which  is  dolorous ; the  tree  green  throughout  the  winter,  and 
the  Amaranth,  rather  than  the  decaying  old  bone.  How 
elegantly  and  appropriately  the  Amaranth  is  associated  with 
immortality  by  the  poets ; and  practically,  under  the  name 
of  Immortelle,  in  the  cemetery  of  Pere  la  Chaise,  is  familiar 
to  accomplished  minds.*  No  less  so  the  fine  similitude  of 
life  and  its  interlude  of  death,  presented  in  those  mysterious 
rivers  which,  like  the  Guadalquiver,  after  flowing  for  some 
distance,  lucid  and  majestic,  suddenly  hide  themselves  in 
the  ground,  but  a little  further  on  burst  out  again,  as  pure, 
and  bright,  and  grand  as  ever.  It  is  not  a little  curious 
that  the  only  personification  of  death  which  has  come  down 
to  us  from  antiquity,  represents  it  as  a skeleton  dancing  to 
the  music  of  the  double  flute  ;f  the  charming  old  fable  of 
the  singing  of  the  swan  before  its  death,  is  but  a poetic  ren- 
dering of  the  same  idea.  Jerome  Cardan,  the  famous  phy- 
sician of  Milan,  in  the  sixteenth  century,  concludes  his 


* The  Amaranth  or  “ Everlasting’’  is  not,  as  commonly  supposed, 
a flower  sui  generis.  There  are  many  species,  and  even  genera  of 
flowers  which  by  reason  of  their  jiiiceless  and  scapose  texture, 
retain  their  color  and  form  indefinitely.  Such  are  diflerent  species 
of  FAichrysum,  Gnaphalium,  &c.  among  the  compositae,  in  which 
family  the  Amaranths  chiefly  occur.  Oddly  enough,  the  genus 
botanically  called  Amar^anthus,  least  merits  the  name.  Those  who 
would  cultivate  these  beautiful  flowers  should  on  no  account  omit 
Gnaphalium  fulgidum,  golden  ; Aphelexis  humilis,  crimson  ; Rhodanthe 
Manglesii,  rose-color  and  silver;  Ammobium  alatum,  white;  and 
above  all,  the  incomparable  Astelma  eximia,  resembling  clusters  of 
ripe  raspberries.  The  chaplets,  &c.  used  at  Pere  la  Chaise  are  made 
of  the  Gnaphalium  Orientale.  No  garden  need  be  destitute  of  the 
Elichrysum  bracteatum. 

t On  a gem  preserved  in  the  Medicean  Gallery  at  Florence,  and 
figured  in  the  Musceum  Florentinum.  Gemmae  Antiquae  ex  Thesauro 
Mediceo,  &c.  Plate  94,  fig.  3. 


il4 


DREAMS. 


beautiful  book  on  Consolation,  with  a comparison  of  death 
to  marital  love.  Cum  itaque  stremem  iigonem  anima 
superaverit,  tarn  quam  amans  amanti  copulata,  ea  dulcedine 
ac  securitate  fruitur,  quam  nec  scribere,  nec  cogitare  possu- 
mus,  &c.’’  ‘^When,  therefore,  thou  hast  taken  thy  last 
leave  of  life,  thy  soul,  like  unto  a lover  embracing  his  love, 
shall  enjoy  that  sweetness  and  security  Avhich  we  can  neither 
write  of  nor  conceive.’’ — Opera,  tom.  i.,  p.  636.  This  beau- 
tiful composition,  the  choicest  work  of  its  extraordinary 
author,  ranks  second  only  to  that  of  Boethius  on  the  same 
subject. 

238.  The  transplantation  of  our  consciousness,  at  the 
period  of  death,  from  the  material  to  the  spiritual  world, 
has  its  image  in  the  suspension  of  our  external  senses  during 
Sleep,  and  the  wakening  of  that  mysterious  sensibility  of 
which  we  become  conscious  in  certain  modes  of  dreaming. 
‘‘We  are  somewhat  more  than  ourselves  in  our  sleep,”  says 
Sir  Thomas  Browne.  “ The  slumber  of  the  body  seems  to 
be  but  the  waking  of  the  soul.  It  is  the  ligation  of  sense, 
but  the  liberty  of  reason.” 

Strange  state  of  being ! For  His  still  to  be ; 

Senseless  to  feel,  and  with  seal’d  eyes  to  see. 

Doubtless  the  majority  of  dreams  are  what  Macnish  asserts 
all  to  be,  namely,  “the  resuscitation  of  thoughts  which  in 
some  shape  or  other  have  previously  occupied  the  mind.” 
Experience  and  revelation  attest,  however,  that  at  times, 
the  struggles  of  the  chained  spirit  to  employ,  and  thus  to 
enjoy  itself  amid  the  glories  of  its  proper  clime,  are  not  in 
vain.  Such  are  the  occasions  when  strange,  beautiful  pic- 
tures open  out  before  our  sleeping  sight,  rich  in  all  the 
colors  and  reality  of  life.  It  will  be  said  that  these  are 
creations  of  the  imagination.  Probably  so.  But  then  what 
is  this  imagination?”  Barely  to  assign  a phenomenon  to  the 


DREAMS. 


415 


“imagination”  is  to  get  no  nearer  to  its  cause.  It  is  to  evade 
the  question,  rather  than  to  resolve  it.  The  “imagination,” 
as  usually  referred  to  in  such  matters,  is  just  one  of  those 
useful  entrenchments  behind  which  perplexity  is  apt  to 
shelter  itself,  and  nothing  more.  The  imagination  belongs 
less  to  the  material  than  to  the  spiritual  world;  or  at  least, 
it  is  like  the  Janus  bifrons  of  the  Roman  mythology, — pro- 
vided with  a twofold  face  and  senses.  What  the  populace 
say  about  imagination  presenting  images  that  we  mistake 
for  realities,  is  like  popular  philosophy  in  general,  pure 
nonsense.  No  man  ever  imagined  or  can  imagine  anything 
that  has  not  reality  somewhere,  and  this  whether  waking  or 
sleeping.  That  which  we  call  imagination  in  reference  to 
dreams  is  what  in  the  day-time  we  call  our  poetic  faculty, — 
and  probably  the  play  of  each  is  in  definite  ratio  to  the 
other — the  prime  characteristic  of  the  faculty  being  unswerv- 
ing allegiance  to  Truth  and  fact,  and  one  of  its  chief  privi- 
leges, insight  into  the  spiritual  world.  In  sleep  we  are  con- 
scious of  beholding  objects  as  distinctly,  and  hearing  sounds 
as  plainly,  as  in  our  waking  state,  yet  with  an  eye  and  ear 
wholly  different  from  the  outward  organs;  and  which  can 
have  reference  therefore  only  to  a sphere  of  nature  and 
mode  of  being  likewise  entirely  different,  a sphere  which  can 
be  no  other  than  the  Spiritual  world..  Dreams,  in  a word, 
rank  with  the  highest  phenomena  of  the  spiritual  life. 
“Dreams,”  says  Addison,  “give  us  some  idea  of  the  great 
excellence  of  a human  soul,  and  its  independency  of  matter, 
They  are  an  instance  of  that  agility  and  perfection  which  is 
natural  to  the  soul  when  disengaged  from  the  body.  When 
the  organs  of  sense  want  their  due  repose  and  necessary 
reparation,  and  the  body  is  no  longer  able  to  keep  pace  with 
that  spiritual  substance  to  which  it  is  united,  the  soul  exalts 
herself  in  her  several  faculties,  and  continues  in  action  until 


416 


PERMANENCE  OF  THE  MEMORY. 


her  partner  is  again  qualified  to  bear  her  company.  Dreams 
look  like  the  amusements  and  relaxations  of  tlie  soul  when 
she  is  disencumbered  of  her  machine;  her  sports  and 
pastimes  when  she  has  laid  her  charge  asleep.’’  Bishop 
Newton’s  remarks  on  dreams  are  little  less  than  argumenta- 
tive for  the  spiritual  body.  ‘‘It  is  very  evident,”  he  writes, 
“that  the  soul  is  in  great  measure  independent  of  the  body, 
even  while  she  is  witliin  the  body;  since  the  deepest  sleep 
that  possesseth  the  one  cannot  affect  the  other.  While  the 
avenues  of  the  body  are  closed,  the  soul  is  still  endued  with 
sense  and  perception,  and  the  impressions  are  often  stronger, 
and  the  images  more  lively,  when  we  are  asleep  than  when 
awake.  They  must  necessarily  be  tw^o  distinct  and  different 
substances,  whose  nature  and  properties  are  so  very  different 
that  while  the  one  shall  sink  under  the  burden  and  fatigue 
of  the  day,  the  other  shall  still  be  fresh  and  active  as  the 
flame;  while  the  one  shall  be  dead  to  the  world,  the  other 
shall  be  ranging  the  universe.”  Lord  Brougham’s  Dis- 
course of  Natural  Theology  contains  reasoning  to  the  same 
effect,  and  almost  in  the  same  words.  A most  clever  and 
interesting  little  book  on  this  subject,  and  one  which  nobody 
curious  in  the  phenomena  of  man’s  inner  life  should  fail  to 
peruse,  is  Sheppard’s  “On  Dreams,  in  their  Mental  and 
Moral  Aspects,  1847.” 

239.  But  leaving  aside  such  dreams  as  those  alluded  to, 
even  the  ordinary  kind  claim  to  originate  in  a spiritual 
activity,  similarly  concurrent  with  the  ligation  of  external 
sense.  For  “the  resuscitation  of  thoughts  which  in  some 
shape  or  other  have  previously  occupied  the  mind,”  is 
not! ling  more  or  less  than  a prelude  to  what  will  unques- 
tionably form  a chief  part  of  our  intellectual  experience  of 
futurity;  namely,  the  inalienable  and  irrepressible  recollec- 
tion of  the  deeds  and  feelings  played  forth  while  in  the 


PERMANENCE  OF  THE  MEMORY. 


417 


flesh,  providing  a beatitude  or  a misery  forever.*  Ordb 
narily,  this  resuscitation  is  of  such  a medley  and  jumbled 
character,  that  not  only  is  the  general  product  unintelli- 
gible, but  the  particular  incidents  are  themselves  too  frag- 
mentary and  dislocated  to  be  recognized.  But  it  is  not 
always  so.  There  must  be  few  who  have  not  experienced  in 
their  sleep,  with  what  peculiar  vividness,  unknown  to  their 
waking  hours,  and  with  what  minute  exactitude  of  portrai- 
ture, events  long  past  and  long  lost  sight  of,  will  not  infre- 
quently come  back,  showing  that  there  is  a something  within 
which  never  forgets,  and  which  only  waits  the  negation  of 
the  external  world,  to  leap  up  and  certify  its  powers. 

O,  wondrous  Dreamland!  who  hath  not 
Threaded  some  mystic  maze 
In  its  dim  retreats,  and  lived  again 
In  the  light  of  other  days  ? 

* * * * 

There  the  child  is  on  its  mother’s  breast 
That  long  in  the  grave  hath  lain. 

For  in  Dreamland  all  the  loved  and  lost 
Are  given  us  again. 

In  the  whole  compass  of  poetry,  perhaps  there  is  nothing 
more  touching  than  the  allusion  in  the  Exile  of  Erin : — 


* Martineau  carries  out  this  view,  in  a piece  of  great  power,  in 
the  ‘‘Endeavors  after  the  Christian  Life.”  Vol.  1.  Coleridge,  in 
Biographia  Literaria,  (vol.  1,  p.  115.  Ed.  1817,)  suggests  that  the 
“books”  which  are  to  be  opened  at  the  last  day,  are  men’s  own  per- 
fect memories  of  what  they  have  thought  and  done  during  life.  In 
relation  to  the  quickening  of  the  memory  at  death,  it  is  full  of 
solemn  interest  that  persons  so  nearly  drowned  as  to  lose  all  con- 
sciousness, and  all  sense  of  physical  pain,  see,  during  the  moments 
preceding  their  restoration,  the  whole  of  their  past  life  in  mental 
panorama.  Of  this  there  are  many  well  known  instances  on  record. 
Forgetting,  absolute  forgetting,  asserts  De  Quincey,  is  a thing  not 
possible  to  the  human  mind. 

S 


418 


DREAMS  AND  I'lIYSICAE  HEALTH. 


Erin ! my  country,  tliongli  sad  and  forsaken, 

In  dreams  I revisit  tliy  sea-beaten  shore; 

But  alas ! in  a far  foreign  land  I awaken, 

And  sigh  for  the  friends  I shall  never  see  more  I 

That  wliich  so  vividly  remembers  is  the  Soul ; and  if  in  the 
sleep  which  refreshes  our  organic  nature,  it  utters  its  recol- 
lections but  brokenly  and  indistinctly,  it  will  abundantly 
compensate  itself  when  the  material  vesture  which  clogs  it 
shall  be  cast  away.  Much  of  the  indistinctness  of  dreams 
probably  arises  from  physical  unhealthiness.  If  a sound 
body  be  one  of  the  first  requirements  to  a sound  mind,  in 
relation  to  its  Avaking  employments,  no  less  must  it  be  need- 
ful to  the  sanity  and  precision  of  its  sleeping  ones.  Brilliant 
as  are  the  powers  and  functions  of  the  spiritual  body,  the 
performance  of  them,  whether  sleeping  or  waking,  so  long 
as  it  is  investured  with  flesh  and  blood,  is  immensely,  per- 
haps wholly,  contingent  on  the  health  of  the  material  body. 
If  the  material  body  be  improperly  fed,  or  the  blood  be  in- 
sufficiently oxygenated,  the  brain  and  nerves  are  imperfectly 
nourished,  and  the  spiritual  body  can  but  imperfectly  enact 
its  wills.  However  little  it  may  be  suspected,  the  great 
practical  question  of  our  day,  the  health  of  toAvns,  thus  in- 
volves, to  a less  or  greater  extent,  the  moral  and  intellectual 
interests  of  the  community.  For  a soul  that  is  debarred 
from  acting  freely  and  vigorously,  through  a defective  or 
vitiated  condition  of  its  instrument,  cannot  be  expected  to 
act  nobly  and  religiously. 

240.  To  enter  the  spiritual  world,  or  rather,  to  become 
conscious  of  it,  requires  no  long  journey.  Man,  as  already 
observed,  is  from  his  birth  an  inhabitant  of  it.  Wherever 
tlicre  are  material  substances  and  material  worlds,  there 
likewise  is  the  s})iritual  universe.  Could  we  be  transported 
to  the  most  distant  star  that  the  telescope  can  descry,  wo 
should  not  be  a hair’s  breadth  nearer  to  it  than  we  are  at 


NEARNESS  OF  THE  SPIRITUAL  WORLD. 


419 


this  moment,  nor  should  we  be  a hair’s  breadth  more  distant 
from  it.  So  far  from  being  infinitely  remote  and  uncon- 
nected, as  vulgarly  supposed,  the  invisible  or  spiritual  world 
is  immediately  contiguous.  It  circumferences  us  like  the 
air  we  breathe.  It  is  only  to  unintelligence  that  it  is  dis- 
tant, and  thus,  like  the  Beautiful,  at  once  quite  close,  and 
far  away.  It  is  near  to  ouf  souls,  which  alone  have  concern 
with  it,  as  the  sweet  kiss  of  true  love;  far  from  our  bodies 
as  such  love  is ‘from  the  vicious.  The  notion  that  heaven 
is  somewhere  beyond  the  stars,  a country  on  the  convex 
side  of  the  firmament,  merely  an  elevated  part  of  space,  has 
long  since  been  neutralized  by  the  discoveries  of  Astronomy 
alone.  Above”  the  physical  earth,  and  “below”  it,  are 
conditions  which  are  changing  every  moment.  If  heaven 
be  above  our  heads  at  noon,  it  is  beneath  our  feet  at  mid- 
night. The  blue,  radiant,  infinite  sky  is  the  material  emblem 
of  heaven,  but  heaven  itself  lies  nowhere  in  material  space, 
because  it  does  not  belong  to  such  space.  This  is  the  very 
letter  of  Scripture.  When  the  shepherds  were  watching 
their  flocks  on  the  eve  of  the  nativity,  the  angels  had  no 
long  distance  to  traverse  in  order  to  come  into  view.  They 
were  not  seen  first  as  a bright  speck  in  the  sky,  gradually 
taking  shape  as  they  drew  nearer.  They  were  beheld  “sud- 
denly,” indicating  that  they  were  close  by  all  the  while,  and 
that  for  them  to  be  seen  it  was  merely  needful  that  the 
spiritual  eyes  of  the  shepherds  should  be  opened.  It  was 
“suddenly”  also  that  Moses  and  Elias  disappeared  after 
they  had  been  seen  on  the  mount  of  the  Transfiguration; 
implying  a similar  closing  of  the  spiritual  eyes  of  the  three 
disciples.  So  when  “the  angel  of  God  called  to  Hagar  out 
of  heaven,  and  said  unto  her.  What  aileth  thee,  Hagar?” 
the  words  could  have  been  uttered  in  no  distant  realm,  or 
they  would  have  been  inaudible.  At  death,  accordingly, 
there  is  no  migration  to  some  distant  region  of  space;  the 


420  DISCLOSURES  OF  THE  SPIRITUAL  WORLD. 


avenue  to  our  eternal  abode  is  simply  the  casting  off  the 
‘‘flesh  and  blood”  which  “cannot  inherit”  it,  and  heaven 
and  hell  are  near  and  distant  according  to  each  man's  moral 
state. 


Death  is  another  life.  We  bow  our  heads 
At  going  out,  we  think,  and  enter  straiglit 
Another  golden  eharnber  of  the  King’s,* 

Larger  than  this,  and  lovelier. — Festus, 

241.  What  are  the  landscape  features  of  that  “golden 
oliamber,”  of  course  we  cannot  know  till  we  enter  it,  “neither 
hath  it  entered  into  the  heart  of  man  to  conceive.”  But 
the  inspiration  which  promises  it  says  also  that  “ the  invisible 
things  of  God  are  clearly  seen  by  the  things  which  are  made,” 
signifying  that  the  splendors  of  futurity,  though  in  their 
fullness  unimaginable,  are  nevertheless  pictured  in  those  of 
earth.  Heaven  is  the  permanent  el'do^  of  creation ; earth  is 
its  dim  eldcoXov.  The  spiritual  world  is  the  universe  of  the 
essences  of  things ; the  material  one  is  the  theatre  of  their 
finited  presentation;  to  such  extent,  and  in  such  variety, 
that  is,  as  it  is  necessary  or  desirable  that  man  should  know 
them  during  his  time-life.  Doubtless  there  are  millions  of 
spiritual  things  which  are  never  ultimated  into  material 
effigies,  but  reserved  as  the  privilege  of  the  angels.  Yet 
whatever  we  do  see  that  is  excellent  and  lovely,  we  may  be 
sure  is  a counterpart  of  something  in  every  sense  celestial. 
The  flowers  of  the  spring  yearly  delight  us  by  their  return, 
because  of  prototypes  in  the  spiritual  world  which  are  im- 
mortal, though  their  material  emblems,  like  the  beautiful 
Dissolving  Views,  come  but  to  flee  away;  and  tried  by  the 
Sensational  standard  of  the  real,  seem  to  be  gone  and  lost 
forever.  The  rose  seems  to  wither,  its  petals  scatter,  and  its 
loveliness  is  only  a recollection;  but  the  real  rose  can  never 
[)erLsh.  The  real  rose  abides  where  it  always  was,  in  the 


VISIONS  OF  THE  FUTURE  LIFE. 


421 


spiritual  world ; and  there  it  will  subsist  for  ever ; and  when 
we  cast  off  our  own  leaves,  we  shall  find  it  there  in  all  its 
deathless  beauty,  along  with  all  the  other  loved  and  vanished. 
God  takes  care  of  all  that  is  truly  beautiful  and  precious, 
and  reserves  it  for  us,  provided  we  will  go  and  take  posses- 
sion. We  have  but  to  cross  the  dark  river  confident  in  his 
trustworthiness,  and  we  shall  not  be  disappointed.  God 
loves  to  be  trusted.  Then,  too,  we  shall  behold  the  spiritual 
sea,  and  islands,  and  rivers,  and  sun,  and  stars,  and  trees, 
just  as  St.  John  beheld  them  when  God  opened  his  eyes  so 
that  he  might  tell  us  of  them  in  the  Apocalypse,  and  as  we 
continually  express  our  own  personal  hope  in  respect  of,  in 
that  beautiful  anticipative  hymn  beginning 

There  is  a land  of  pure  delight, 

and  proceeding — 

There  everlasting  spring  abides, 

And  never-withering  flowers; 

* * - * * 

Sweet  fields  beyond  the  swelling  flood 
Stand  dressed  in  living  green."^ 

We  all  came  into  the  world  for  something ; we  shall  all  go 


* Other  scenes  in  nature  may  be  grander,  but  lovelier  there  are 
none  than  the  view,  on  a fair  summer  morning,  from  the  eastern 
shores  of  the  upper  part  of  the  Bristol  Channel.  Seated  on  the 
thymy  hills  of  happy  Clevedon,  sloping  so  delicately  to  the  edge  of 
the  wild,  seaweed-mantled  crags,  upon  whose  feet  the  impetuous 
waves,  dashing  and  tossing,  seem  never  weary  of  flinging  their 
white  beauty — as  we  gaze  upon  the  opposite  coast,  the  picture  in 
these  verses  is  completely  and  most  exquisitely  realized.  There 
rolls  the  ‘^swelling  flood;’’  there  lie  the  sweet  fields  beyond,” 
dressed  in  their  living  green,”  and  dotted  with  hamlets  and  white 
cottages  which  show  conspicuous  in  the  bright  revealing  sun.  Borne 
to  this  beautiful  presence,  the  heart  learns  how  to  understand  the 
heavenly  Jordan,  and  swells  with  new  delight  of  pious  hope. 

36 


422  THE  PRESENT  LIFE  NOT  TO  RE  SLTOTITED. 

out  of  it  for  more ; just  as  when  dayliglit  is  exeluinged  for 
starliglit,  we  lose  our  consciousness  of  the  terrestrial  in  the 
«uperber  consciousness  of  the  universal. 

Mysterious  Niglit ! wlien  our  first  parent  knew 
Thee,  from  rej^ort  divine,  and  heard  tliy  name, 

Did  he  not  tremble  for  this  lovely  frame, 

This  glorious  canopy  of  light  and  blue? 

Yet,  hieath  a curtain  of  translucent  dew. 

Bathed  in  the  rays  of  the  great  setting  flame, 

Hesperus,  with  the  host  of  heaven  came, 

And  lo ! creation  widened  in  man’s  view. 

Who  could  have  thought  such  darkness  lay  concealed 
Within  thy  beams,  O Sun  ? or  who  could  find^ 

Whilst  fly,  and  leaf,  and  insect  stood  revealed. 

That  to  such  countless  orbs  thou  mad’st  us  blind  ? 

Why  do  we,  then,  shun  death  with  anxious  strife  ? 

If  Light  can  thus  deceive,  wherefore  not  Life  ? 

242.  But,  because  of  these  prospects,  we  are  not  to  think 
slightingly  of  the  present  life  and  its  arena.  Each  sphere 
of  being  is  divine,  for  each  is  the  work  of  God,  and  if  not 
felt  sacred,  it  is  the  observer  that  is  in  fault.  Many  think 
that  because  heaven,  which  is  the  sunny  part  of  the  spiritual 
world,  is  above  all  places  holy,  therefore  the  material  world, 
this  earth,  is  vile — the  devil’s  kingdom.  Not  so.  The 
world,  properly  regarded,  is  God’s  kingdom,  not  the  devil’s. 
Hell  only  is  the  devil’s  kingdom.  True,  Jesus  said,  ‘‘  My 
kingdom  is  not  of  this  world.”  But  it  is  quite  wrong  to  in- 
fer from  this,  as  many  do,  that  he  neither  felt  any  interest 
in  it  himself,  nor  desired  that  man  should  feel  any.  To 
fancy  our  Lord  to  have  promulgated  Christianity  upon 
earth  solely  with  a view  to  man’s  future  happiness  in  hea- 
ven, is  one  of  the  fatalest  errors  we  can  fall  into.  The  true 
oliice  of  ndigion  is  to  teach  us  so  to  live  in  this  world,  and 
so  to  enjoy  it,  that  we  must  needs  live  in  and  enjoy  the 


KINGDOM  IS  NOT  OF  THIS  WOULD/'  423 


other.  If  thou  wilt  rightly  understand  and  love  eternity, 
learn  properly  to  understand  and  love  terrestrial  life.  The 
true  preparation  for  heaven  is  to  learn  what  we  have  on 
earth,  and  to  be  glad  in  it."  To  say  that  there  is  ‘‘  nothing 
true  but  heaven,"  that  all  below  is  unworthy  a wish  or 
thought,  is  the  very  opposite  to  what  Christ  really  taught. 
Certainly,  the  world  we  live  in  is  full  of  trials  and  deceitful- 
ness, ^d  blessed  is  the  promise  of  solace  and  compensation 
in  a brighter  sphere ; but  it  is  God's  world  still,  therefore 
abounding  in  good  and  beauty,  and  impossible  to  be  all 
worthlessness  and  illusion.  The  tendency  to  neglect  and 
too  little  appreciate  the  advantages  of  the  present  life,  en- 
couraged by  the  incessant  dwelling  by  many  of  our  spiritual 
teachers  on  the  prospects  of  the  life  to  come,  is  a result 
which  every  thinking  Christian  man  cannot  but  deplore; 
for  that  cannot  be  a true  spirit  of  Christianity  which  deems 
our  beautiful  world  a mere  ^ Wale  of  tears,"  the  mere  pas- 
sage to  a better,  or  which  thanks  God  not  so  much  for  what 
he  has  already  given,  as  for  what  we  consider  we  are  and 
ought,  to  receive.  What  our  Lord  really  meant  in  those 
memorable  words,  My  kingdom, "&c.,  was,  that  he  came  to 
introduce  an  order  of  things  based  on  other  principles  en- 
tirely than  those  of  the  humanly  constituted  kingdoms  then 
existing — principles  of  love,  charity  and  mercy,  instead  of 
selfishness,  cruelty  and  aggression.  Hence  the  angels  sang 
not  only  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  but  on  earth,  peace 
and  good-will.  There  is  something  truly  grand  in  the  spec- 
tacle of  a man  in  the  enjoyment  of  health,  prosperity,  and 
reputation,  looking  forward  nevertheless  to  a future  life, 
with  hope  and  thankfulness.  Far  more  admirable,  how- 
ever, is  the  spectacle  of  him  who  feels  this  hope  and  thank- 
fulness, not  by  reason  of  dissatisfaction  with  the  world,  but 
by  reason  of  its  ministry  to  him  of  wisdom  and  delight. 
“ The  fact,"  says  a great  and  original  writer,  “ that  the  sky 


424 


FANATICISM  AND  TERRESTRIALTSM. 


is  brighter  tlian  the  earth  is  not  a precious  truth  unless  the 
earth  itself  be  first  understood.  Despise  the  earth,  or  slan- 
der it,  fix  your  eyes  on  its  gloom,  and  forget  its  loveliness, 
and  we  do  not  thank  you  for  your  languid  or  despairing 
perception  of  brightness  in  heaven.  But  rise  up  actively  on 
the  earth,  learn  what  there  is  in  it,  know  its  color  and  form, 
and  the  full  measure  and  make  of  it,  and  when  after  that, 
you  say  ^ heaven  is  bright,’  it  will  be  a precious  truth,  but 
not  till  then.”  (Buskin,  Modern  Painters,  iv.  39.)  Con- 
stant dwelling  upon  death  and  what  will  follow  it,  too  often 
confounded  with  religion,  and  even  mistaken  for  it,  is  not 
only  not  healthful  to  the  soul,  but  injurious.  True,  the  way 
to  live  pleasantly  is  to  learn  to  die  hopefully ; “ fine  ideas,” 
says  Goethe,  must  needs  fill  the  soul  that  in  any  way  out- 
steps the  boundaries  of  terrestrial  life;”  but  we  must  not 
think  only  of  dying ; it  is  more  religious  to  seek  to  preserve 
our  life  as  long  as  we  possibly  can,  and  to  exert  ourselves 
as  far  as  strength  and  opportunity  will  permit,  than  to 
estrange  ourselves  from  God’s  gifts.  Anything  which  too 
powerfully  attracts  us  away  from  the  duties  of  the  present 
life,  cannot  be  regarded  as  beneficial.  While  here,  the 
living  should  belong  to  life,  and  adapt  themselves  to  it. 
God  has  shown  us  that  it  is  his  will  that  'vve  should  do  so, 
by  withholding  from  us  every  clue  as  to  the  time  of  our  de- 
parture. A truly  noble  soul  loves  both  heaven  and  earth, 
falling  neither  into  fanaticism  nor  terrestrialism.  The  func- 
tions of  our  temporal  life  are  as  noble  in  their  degree  as 
those  of  eternity  can  be.  Our  relations  to  God  can  never 
be  more  intimate  or  grand.  It  is  a poor  mistake  to  think 
that  we  compliment  God’s  heaven  by  despising  his  earth, 
and  that  we  best  show  our  sense  of  the  great  things  the  fu- 
ture man  will  do  yonder,  by  counting  as  utterly  worthless 
all  that  the  present  man  can  do  here.” 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


TME  ANALOGIES  OF  NATVRE—LAW  OF  FMEFIGVRATION 

243.  A TRUE  philosophy  of  Life  includes  the  great  phe- 
nomena of  Analogy.  In  order,  therefore,  to  the  comple- 
tion of  our  subject,  it  is  proper  that  they  should  receive  an 
independent  and  methodical  consideration,  over  and  above 
the  passing  allusions  that  have  from  time  to  time  been  made. 
Analogy  as  it  exists  among  natural  objects  and  appearances, 
is  not,  as  often  supposed,  mere  casual  and  superficial  resem- 
blance, though  it  is  perfectly  true  that  such  resemblance 
exists.  It  is  a part  of  the  very  method,  order,  and  consti- 
tution of  things.  The  evidence  of  the  Unity  of  creation 
resides  in  its  analogies ; in  these  also  we  realize  the  noblest 
and  most  ennobling  knowledge  that  is  open  to  us  after  Scrip- 
tural truth,  namely,  the  dual  glory  and  blessedness  of  our 
position  in  the  universe,  or  as  regards  ISTature  on  the  one 
hand,  below,  and  God  upon  the  other  hand,  above.  Lord 
Bacon,  who  calls  them  the  “ respondences”  of  Nature,  fully 
alive  to  their  value,  thus  urgently  enforces  it  in  the  Ad- 
vancement of  Learning.  ‘^Neither,’’  says  he,  “are  those  of 
which  we  have  spoken,  and  others  of  like  nature,  mere 
resemblances  (as  men  of  narrow  observation  may  possibly 
imagine),  but  one  and  the  very  same  seals  and  footsteps  of 
Nature,  impressed  upon  various  subjects  and  objects. 
Hitherto  this  branch  of  science  hath  not  been  cultivated  as 
it  ought.  In  the  writings  emanating  from  the  profounder 
class  of  wits  you  may  find  examples  thinly  and  sparsely  in- 
36  425 


426 


ANALOGY  AND  CORRESPONDENCE. 


sorted,  for  the  use  and  illustration  of  the  argument,  but  a 
complete  body  of  these  axioms  no  one  hath  yet  prepared ; 
though  they  have  a primitive  force  and  efficacy  in  all  science, 
and  are  of  such  consequence  as  materially  to  conduce  to  the 
understanding  of  the  Unity  of  Nature ; which  latter  we  con- 
ceive to  be  the  office  and  use  of  Piiilosophia  Prima.”  All 
philosophy  goes  to  establish  this  high  claim.  No  portion  of 
Nature  is  truly  intelligible  till  its  analogies  with  the  other 
portions  are  investigated  and  applied ; the  man  who  disre- 
gards them  can  never  be  more  than  a sectarian,  while  he 
who  uses  them — not  in  the  way  of  a trifler,  as  the  end  of 
his  inquiries,  but  as  a philosopher,  for  their  efficacy  as  a 
means — proves  that  it  is  they  alone  which  can  render  the 
mind  cosmopolitan,  and  truly  instruct  us  in  the  arcana  of 
creation.  A man  may  be  a very  good  chemist,  as  to  ac- 
quaintance with  salts  and  acids;  he  may  be  a very  good 
botanist,  as  concerns  the  names  and  uses  of  plants ; but  this 
is  only  to  be  a savant ; he  is  no  philosopher  till  he  can  gather 
new  insight  into  his  chemistry  or  his  botany  by  virtue  of  its 
analogies  with  other  shapes  of  truth,  and  feel  the  centrality, 
as  to  essentials,  of  every  science.  For  the  true  analogist, 
wherever  he  may  be,  however  he  may  shift  his  standing 
ground,  always  finds  himself  in  the  middle  of  nature,  his 
particular  object  for  the  time  being,  the  clue  and  text-book 
to  the  whole.  The  characteristic  of  the  true  philosopher  is 
his  large  consciousness  of  what  is  proper  to  the  race  in 
general,  and  of  the  varied  circumstances  which  pertain  to 
its  expression  in  the  individual.  Analogy  as  it  exists  in  the 
world  of  material  nature,  or  as  we  are  now  treating  of  it, 
must  not  be  confounded  with  Correspondence.  ‘‘Corre- 
spondence,” in  the  strict  and  proper  sense  of  the  word,  and 
as  ordinarily  used  in  this  volume,  denotes  the  relation  of 
the  mat(Tial  and  objective,  to  the  spiritual  and  invisible, 
that  is  to  say,  the  relation  of  inmost  Cause  to  outermost 


ANALOGY  AND  CORRESPONDENCE. 


427 


Effect,  all  causes  belonging  primarily  to  the  spiritual  world, 
and  the  phenomena  of  material  nature  being  so  many  final 
effects  of  them,  as  shown  in  our  chapter  upon  this  subject. 
Correspondence,  accordingly,  can  properly  be  spoken  only 
of  that  first,  governing  analogy  of  the  universe  which  in- 
volves the  relation  of  a prior  principle  to  a posterior,  of  a 
noumenon  to  a phenomenon,  or  riee  versa.  The  analogies 
of  the  material  world  are  secondary,  and  are  not  correspond- 
ences. They  are  analogies  of  one  natural  effect  with  another 
natural  effect;  of  one  natural  cause  with  another  natural 
cause,  and  so  forth ; while  Correspondences  rest  on  the  rela- 
tions, not  of  two  natural  things  to  one  another,  but  of 
natural  things  to  spiritual  things. 

244.  The  value  of  the  study  of  analogy,  even  in  its  sim- 
plest applications,  is  impossible  to  be  over-rated.  There  is 
not  a single  science  from  which  difficulties  have  not  been 
removed  by  the  certainties  of  a kindred  science,  when  ana- 
logically compared  with  it,  or  which,  on  similar  comparison, 
does  not  furnish  new  hints  and  illustrations.  It  is  curious,’’ 
remarks  Sir  David  Brewster,  tacitly  vouching  for  this  prin- 
ciple, ‘^how  the  conjectures  in  one  science  are  sometimes 
converted  into  truths  by  the  discoveries  in  another.”  Struc- 
tures, forms,  and  phenomena,  moreover,  which  are  incom- 
prehensible, considered  locally  and  specifically,  and  which 
often  seem  positively  useless  and  incongruous,  become,  by 
reference  to  a higher  synthesis,  based  on  an  extended  and 
philosophic  consideration  of  analogies,  not  only  comprehen- 
sible, but  fraught  with  meaning  of  the  finest  order.  Such, 
for  example,  are  the  organs  which  in  man  seem  meaningless 
mimicry  of  the  female  bosom.  Viewed  by  the  light  of 
analogy,  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  either  capricious  or 
inconsistent.  The  mistake  which  too  often  prevents  the  full 
realization  of  the  use  of  analogy,  and  tends  even  to  en- 
gender distrust  and  prejudice,  is  the  waywardness  wliich  so 


428  GENERALIZATION  THE  BASIS  OF  PHILOSOPHY. 


commonly  persists  in  contrasting  that  which  is  liighest  with 
that  which  is  lowest — the  extremes,  in  a word — and  rejecting 
all  that  lies  between  as  anomalous.  Relations,  like  causes, 
that  are  not  immediate,  are  discovered  by  such  as  are  inter- 
mediate, When  divested  of  the  arbitrary  disguises  with 
which  fancy  may  choose  to  clothe  them,  the  highest  and  the 
lowest  reflect  each  other’s  looks,  and  a common  brotherhood 
becomes  everywhere  apparent.  Because  of  this  grand  con- 
sanguinity of  all  knowledge,  arising  from  the  unity  of 
nature,  comes  also  the  lofty  opinion  which  the  votaries  of 
any  particular  department  entertain  of  it.  To  the  geologist 
there  is  nothing  nobler  than  geology;  to  the  chemist  than 
chemistry ; to  the  florist  than  floriculture.  Each  man  feels 
the  throbbing  of  the  mighty  heart,  and,  like  the  true  analo- 
gist,  seems  to  himself  to  stand  in  the  middle. 

245.  Analogy  accordingly,  true,  inductive,  poetic  analogy, 
constitutes  the  highest  exercise  of  philosophy,  “the  science,” 
as  Adam  Smith  well  defines  it,  “of  the  connecting  principles 
of  nature’’  Not  that  perception  of  analogies  is  itself  philo- 
sophy, but  that  all  true  philosophy  rests  on  large  and  bril- 
liant generalization,  the  means  to  this  latter  being  fine  and 
lively  aptitude  for  the  former.  “The  excellence  of  a philo- 
sophy,” says  Ruskin,  “ consists  in  the  breadth  of  its  harmony, 
or  the  number  of  truths  it  has  been  able  to  reconcile.” 
That  powerful  capacity  of  abstraction  which  seizing  the 
points  of  agreement  in  a number  of  otherwise  dissimilar  in- 
dividuals, marshals  the  related,  and  separates  the  alien,  is  in 
fact,  the  highest  prerogative  of  the  human  mind.  “To 
generalize,”  says  Mackay,  “to  discover  unity  in  multiplicity, 
order  in  apparent  confusion ; to  separate  from  the  accidental 
and  the  transitory,  the  stable  and  universal;  this  is  the  great 
aim  of  human  Reason.”  Not  only  is  it  the  strongest  evi- 
dence of  Intellectual  greatness.  “The  tendency  to  connect 
and  harmonize  everything  is  one  of  the  eminent  conditions 


TRUE  IDEA  OF  GENIUS. 


429 


of  a mind  leaning  to  virtue  and  beauty,  just  as  the  tendency 
to  dismember  and  separate  everything  is  that  of  a mind 
leaning  to  vice  and  ugliness.’’  The  finest  part  of  Originality 
is  combination,  or  the  power  of  generalizing  and  uniting, 
discovering  new  harmonies  among  familiar  elements,  and 
showing  us  gracefully  and  eloquently  how  to  see  them  for 
ourselves.  Originality  therefore,  instead  of  being,  as  many 
suppose,  nearly  exhausted,  instead  of  becoming  rarer,  will 
become  grander  every  day,  and  go  on  delighting  us  forever, 
seeing  that  with  increase  of  facts  and  principles  to  generalize 
and  combine,  will  there  be  scope  for  the  power  of 

generalizing.  Essentially,  this  great  power  is  innate  and 
intuitional;  hence  it  is  classed  by  Plato  with  the  divine  or 
Promethean  gifts.  Forming,  as  it  does,  an  integral  and  vital 
part  of  Genius,”  or  that  which  we  are  born  with,  if  genius 
be  acknowledged  a boon  from  heaven,  the  part  must  of  ne- 
cessity be  of  the  same  origin  as  the  whole,  and  the  sage  of 
the  Academian  garden  be  in  the  right.  All  men  are  com- 
petent to  it,  for  all  men’s  intuitions  are  alike,  however  dif- 
ferent may  be  their  development  into  living  force  under  the 
influence  of  education  and  self-culture.  Genius  is  not  so 
rare  as  many  suppose.  Let  a man  assiduously  apply  him- 
self to  Nature  and  Analogies,  and  he  will  find  in  his  own 
heart,  however  unexpectedly,  hidden  stores  of  the  envied 
power,  ready  to  burst  into  lifelike  seeds.  The  achievements 
of  genius,  even  the  very  highest  of  them,  come  not  of 
something  peculiar  to  the  man,  but  of  something  common  to 
all  men.  The  man  of  genius,  restrictively  so  called,  does  but 
set  forth,  clearly  and  beautifully,  what  all  the  world  knows 
already,  and  what  every  true  reader  of  him  feels  to  be 
equally  his  own.  Other  people  differ  from  him  not  as  being 
ignorant,  but  as  having  their  knowledge  confused,  vague, 
and  inarticulate.  This  is  the  reason  why  in  the  land  where 
a great  genius  lived  and  wrote,  we  always  feel  at  home. 


430 


PRINCIPLE  OF  PREFIGURATION. 


Tliongli  we  may  never  have  quitted  onr  own  shores,  reading 
Virgil  we  feel  that  our  native  soil  is  beyond  the  Apennines. 
To  the  Englishman  who  loves  him,  Goetlie  makes  Germany 
England;  to  the  German  wlio  has  a heart,  Shakspere  makes 
England  Germany.  Generalization,  accordingly,  is  not  to 
be  deemed  purely  a gift,  a power  vain  to  aspire  to;  what  is 
intuitive,  even  in  the  greatest,  is  simply  the  capacity  to  gene- 
ralize. Whatever  its  particular  bent,  genius  cannot  do 
without  study  and  culture,  and  these  will  often  lift  a man  to 
the  level  of  the  reputed  ‘‘Genius.”  In  no  department  of 
life  do  men  rise  to  eminence  who  have  not  undergone  a long 
and  diligent  preparation;  for  whatever  be  the  difference  in 
the  mental  powers  of  individuals,  it  is  the  cultivation  of  them 
that  alone  leads  to  distinction.  Though  few  may  even  by 
culture  be  able  to  express,  all  can  in  some  measure  learn  to 
feel  and  understand.  This,  if  nothing  further,  is  in  the 
power  and  will  of  every  man,  and  peculiarly  of  the  analogist. 
He  may  begin  where  he  pleases;  Nature  has  everywhere  a 
portico;  Truth,  like  the  world,  is  a sphere;  dig  wherever  we 
may,  we  shall  surely  come  to  the  centre  if  we  dig  deep 
enough. 

246.  That  Nature  is  a magnificent  Unity  has  long  been 
perceived;  also  that  its  parts  form  a vast  Chain  or  series, 
beginning  with  the  atom  of  dust,  and  extending  through 
minerals,  plants,  and  animals  up  to  man.  Associated  with 
these  great  principles,  and  springing  out  of  them,  is  a third, 
the  beautiful  principle  of  Prefiguration.  Everything  in 
nature  is  a sign  of  something  higher  and  more  living  than 
itself,  to  follow  in  due  course,  and  in  turn  announce  a yet 
higher  one;  the  mineral  foretells  the  plant,  the  plant  fore- 
tells the  animal,  all  things  in  their  degree  foretell  mankind. 
“Nature,”  says  Henry  Sutton,  “before  she  developes  the 
human  being,  projdiesies  of  that  her  grand  and  ultimate 
performance,  and  gives  pictures  and  shows  of  her  unborn 


NO  MIMfCKY  IN  NATURE. 


431 


man-child,  hinting  at  him,  and  longing  and  trying  to  realize 
him,  before  the  time  has  come  for  his  actual  appearance.” 
As  the  Poet  is  not  of  one  nature,  but  of  Two,  one  concerned 
with  the  present,  the  other  reaching  forwards  into  the  future, 
so  IS  it  with  the  phenomena  and  forms  of  Life.  Over  and 
above  their  ordinary  present  use  and  meaning,  they  tell  of 
other  and  greater  things  to  come,  anticipating  them,  and 
pointing  to  them.  Ordinarily,  the  resemblances  subsisting 
between  the  three  kingdoms  of  nature  are  deemed  mimicries; 
the  higher  manifestation  is  said  to  be  “ imitated”  by  the 
lower,  the  phenomena  of  the  vegetable  being  considered  a 
degradation  or  humble  copy  of  those  of  the  animal,  and  those 
of  the  mineral  world  a degradation  of  those  of  the  plant.  This 
is  wrong  altogether  ; it  is  viewing  the  column  as  commencing 
with  the  capital,  and  ending  with  the  pedestal.  Properly 
understood,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  mimicry  in  nature;  it 
is  an  inverted  mode  of  observation  that  makes  it  seem  as  if 
there  were;  the  motto  is  everywhere  Excelsior:  the  like- 
nesses are  not  those  of  the  living,  smiling  child  and  the 
wooden  doll,  but  of  the  artist’s  pencilled  outline  and  finished 
picture  in  colored  oils.  In  the  inferior  orders  of  creation 
it  is  not  that  the  lamp  of  vitality  is  going  out,  but  that  we 
catch  the  first  kindlings  of  that  spark  which  glows  with  so 
noble  a flame  in  the  Aristotles,  the  Newtons,  the  Miltons, 
of  our  heaven-gazing  race.”  So  full  of  interest  are  these 
prefigurations,  so  serviceable  to  a right  conception  both  of 
the  unity  and  of  the  chain  of  nature,  that  it  will  be  best  for 
them  to  receive  our  first  consideration,  letting  the  former 
and  greater  truths  come  after.  None  of  these  matters,  it 
may  be  hinted,  are  for  closet  study;  they  concern  nature  as 
it  flows  fresh  and  immaculate  from  God,  and  only  by  con- 
versance with  nature  can  they  be  justly  apprehended.  The 
man  who  would  be  truly  instructed  in  her  ways  must  seek 


432  PREFIGURATIONS  OF  THE  MINERAL  KINGDOM. 


them,  not  by  pursuit  of  his  fancy  in  a chair,  but  with  his 
eyes  abroad. 

247.  Tlie  Mineral  kingdom,  as  the  common  basis  of  ma- 
terial nature,  is  also  the  first  seat  of  prefiguration,  which 
begins  in  the  beautiful  objects  known  as  Crystals,  including 
both  the  minerals  proper,  as  the  amethyst,  lapis-lazuli,  and 
emerald,  and  the  infinite  variety  of  chemical  salts,  as  sul- 
phate of  copper,  prussiate  and  bichromate  of  potash.  These, 
in  the  symmetry  of  their  forms,  the  purity  and  often  trans- 
lucent brightness  of  their  colors,  and  their  clustered  mode 
of  growth,  give  promise  of  the  flowers  of  the  plant,  and  are 
the  blossoms  of  inorganic  nature.  Many  substances- in  crys- 
talizing,  so  dispose  themselves  as  to  predict  the  branching 
and  general  arrangement  of  the  stems  and  foliage  of  plants. 
This  we  may  see  in  native  silver  and  native  copper,  which 
frequently  assume  most  beautiful  arborescent  and  frondose 
figures.  In  the  freezing  of  water  it  is  shown  so  strikingly, 
that  while  it  transports  the  true  lover  of  nature  with  de- 
light, even  the  dullest  are  attracted  and  pleased  by  it.  The 
delicate  silvery  lace-work  on  the  window-panes  on  frosty 
mornings  is  something  more  than  a pretty  accident.  By  no 
means  a mere  lusus  naturce,  (a  very  unmeaning  expression,) 
not  without  a cause  do  we  find  it  anticipating  the  forms  of 
certain  mosses,  as  those  of  the  genus  Hypnum,  and  in  par- 
ticular the  soft,  feathery  Hypnum  proliferum  of  sylvan  path- 
ways, giving  not  only  the  contour,  but  the  very  size.  Nature 
places  it  there  because  in -her  least  as  well  as  greatest  works 
there  is  nothing  so  incongenial  as  an  abrupt  beginning,  and 
nothing  so  grateful  as  to  sound  a “herald  voice’’  of  coming 
glory.  Certain  sea-weeds  are  prefigured  by  the  frost-work 
no  less  strikingly  than  the  mosses;  in  the  Ptilota plumosa  we 
have  a remarkably  beautiful  instance,  every  pinnule  of  this 
charining  plant  ramifying  at  a given  angle,  and  originating 
smaller  ones  of  the  same  character.  Sometimes  the  tracery 


PllEFIGUREMENTS  OF  VEGETABLE  FORMS.  433 


is  curvilinear  instead  of  angular,  when  it  points  to  the 
luxuriant  wavy  leayes  of  the  Acanthus,  as  chiselled  for  the 
crown  of  the  Corinthian  pillar.  No  branches  of  trees,  or 
foliage,  however  graceful,  can  exceed  the  freedom  and 
variety  with  which  these  lines  are  drawn.  In  other  cases, 
when  curved  and  frondose,  they  foreshadow  the  rounded 
masses  that  give  such  richness  to  the  umbrageous  elm 
and  courtly  chestnut.  Jones  of  Nayland  gives  plates  of 
some  of  the  latter  varieties  in  his  Philosophical  Disquisi- 
tions (p.  244).  Scheuchzer,  in  that  curious  old  book,  the 
Herbarium  Diluvianum  (tab.  8,  p.  40,)  figures  a specimen 
of  another  variety,  singularly  presignificant  of  the  club- 
moss,  or  Lycopodium  clavatum,  formed,  he  tells  us,  on  the 
inner  surface  of  a glass  globe  in  his  museum,  during  the 
severe  winter  of  1709.  Prefigurements  of  vegetable  forms 
occur  likewise  on  the  pavement  in  winter  mornings,  deco- 
rating it  even  in  the  heart  of  foggy  towns,  with  graceful 
arching  sprays  in  basso  relievo  of  brown  ice.  In  their  earlier 
stages  these  remind  us  of  the  foot-prints  of  the  sea-gulls 
upon  the  sand.  On  the  surface  of  very  shallow  water,  as  at 
the  bottom  of  tubs,  congelation  not  seldom  repeats,  on  a 
grand  scale,  small  portions  of  the  flowerage  of  the  window- 
panes.  'The  prefiguration  is  then  of  the  larger  pinnate- 
leaved  ferns,  as  the  Polypodium  aureum,  especially  as  they 
appear  when  pressed  and  dried  for  the  Hortus  Siccus.  In 
fossil  ferns,  from  these  latter  having  more  the  appearance  of 
drawings,  we  may  observe  it  more  plainly  still.*  In  the 
animal  kingdom  these  forms  are  recapitulated  in  the  flat, 
white,  pectinated  skeletons  of  such  fishes  as  the  sole;  just  as 


* An  extraordinary  example,  singularly  like  the  Pecopteris  gigan- 
tea,  occurred  on  the  premises  of  the  author,  during  the  intense  frost 
of  February,  1855.  The  pinnae  were  fourteen  inches  long,  and  the 
entire  ice-leaf  five  feet  in  circumference. 

37 


T 


434 


SNOW  CRYSTALS. 


the  angles  and  geometrical  nicety  of  the  proportions  of 
single  crystals,  reappear  in  the  honeycomb  of  the  bee,  and 
the  hexagonal  facets  of  insects'  eyes.  The  stems  of  plants, 
or  at  least  those  of  exogenous  structure,  are  prefigured  in 
that  curious  stalactitic  variety  of  sulphate  of  baryta,  called 
in  Derbyshire  ‘‘petrified  oak."  The  horizontal  section  of 
this  mineral,  when  polished,  presents  a rich  brown,  circular 
disk,  and  gives  an  exact  picture  of  the  concentric  rings  and 
medullary  rays.  Flowers  are  foretold  again  in  Snow. 
Walking  over  the  white  mantle  of  mid-winter,  we  little 
think  that  at  every  step  we  annihilate  a tiny  garden.  But 
so  it  is.  Scattered  over  the  surface  of  snow  are  innumerable 
glittering  spangles,  composed  of  six  minute  icicles,  spreading 
starlike  from  a centre,  the  rays  themselves  often  provided 
with  smaller,  secondary  filaments,  so  as  to  resemble  micro- 
scopic feathers.  In  the  less  developed  stage  we  see  Nature 
planning  in  them  such  of  the  lilies  and  other  flowers  of 
Endogens  as  when  expanded  are  flat  and  radiate,  the  Orni- 
tliogalum  imbellatum,  or  Star  of  Bethlehem,  for  instance:  in 
the  latter  or  more  developed  stage  they  are  harbingers  of 
that  dainty  little  blossom  of  the  Canadian  woods,  the 
Mitella  mida,  the  petals  of  which  are  fimbriated  and  of  the 
purest  white.  In  the  animal  kingdom,  the  idea  culminates 
in  the  star-fishes.  The  beauty  of  these  unregarded  little 
diamonds  of  the  snow,  though  lost  upon  most  men,  has  long 
been  a delight  to  quick  observers.  Descartes  gives  rude 
drawings  of  them  in  the  Meteora,  and  the  ingenious  but  un- 
fortunate microscopist,  Robert  Hooke,  in  his  Micrographia. 
(Plate  viii.,  1675.)  Dr.  Grew,  author  of  that  immortal 
work,  the  Anatomy  of  Plants,  contributed  a paper  upon 
them  to  the  Philosophical  Transactions  for  1673,  and  there 
is  a notice  of  them  somewhere  by  Linnaeus.  It  remained 
however  for  Scoresby,  the  arctic  voyager,  to  point  out  their 
astonishing  variety,  Ilis  figures  amount  to  nearly  a hundred, 


IMPORTANCE  OF  LITTLE  THINGS. 


435 


and  look  as  if  designed  from  a kaleidoscope,  all  referable, 
nevertheless,  to  the  common  six-rayed  star  as  their  funda- 
mental form.  It  is  from  these  figures  that  the  Cyclopaedias 
and  Galleries  of  Nature  have  all  copied.  The  impression 
commonly  entertained  that  the  large  diversity  found  by 
Scoresby  in  the  Polar  regions  belongs  only  to  such  latitudes, 
is  not  correct.  In  the  ‘‘Illustrated  London  News”  for 
February,  1855,  and  again  in  the  “Art  Journal”  for  March, 
1857,  there  are  drawings  by  Mr.  Glaisher,  of  the  Greenwich 
Observatory,  of  no  less  than  thirty-two  varieties  discovered 
in  his  own  neighborhood,  and  doubtless  many  more  may  be 
found,  and  in  any  part  of  the  country,  if  diligently  sought, 
providing  a Christmas  and  New-year’s  pleasure  for  the  in- 
telligent such  as  will  outweigh  whole  nights  of  the  mere 
temporicide  popularly  esteemed  the  heaii-ideal  of  winter 
pastime.  They  were  no  common  eyes  that  first  espied  the 
snow-flowers.  Most  men  can  see  large  things,  but  it  takes 
clever  ones  to  see  the  little.  Nor  were  they  common  minds. 
To  take  the  simple,  the  homely,  the  unheeded,  and  show 
mankind  how  to  find  in  it  a source  of  new,  rational,  and  un- 
sophisticated enjoyment,  is  not  the  least  of  the  benign  func- 
tions that  belong  to  Genius.  To  learn  how  to  see  and  de- 
light in  little  things  as  v/ell  as  large,  is  in  fact,  to  make  no 
slight  progress  both  in  true  intelligence  and  in  aptitude  for 
genuine  pleasure.  Many  laugh  at  the  idea  of  being  pleased 
with  little  things.  “Little  things,”  they  say,  “please  little 
minds.”  They  should  remember  that  the  great  mass  of  the 
population  of  our  planet  consists  of  the  merest  pigmies, 
diminutive  birds  and  fishes,  tiny  insects,  animalcules  only 
visible  with  a microscope,  so  that  to  turn  away  from  little 
things  is  to  be  indifferent  to  almost  everything  the  world 
contains.  Besides,  with  Uranus  eighty  times  greater  than 
the  whole  earth,  Neptune  a hundred  and  fifty  times  greater, 
Saturn  more  than  seven  hundred  times,  and  Jupiter  more 


436 


PREriOURATION  IN  PLANTS. 


tFian  fourteen  hundred,  it  is  rather  inconsistent  to  talk  about 
littleness  in  the  objects  of  a world  itself  so  puny. 

248.  The  enterprise  of  plants  is  one  of  the  most  wonder- 
ful things  in  nature.  Irrespectively  of  their  immense  pre- 
significance of  Animal  life,  which  infinitely  exceeds  that  of 
the  mineral  world  with  regard  to  the  vegetable,  there  is  a 
continual  and  ardent  emulation  of  all  higher  parts  and 
forms  by  those  which  in  function  or  development  are  lower. 
Leaves,  for  example,  which,  as  we  all  know,  are  ordinarily 
of  some  shade  of  green,  in  many  species  paint  themselves 
with  the  most  vivid  and  beautiful  colors.  The  leaves  of 
several  kinds  of  Amaranthus,  as  the  Prince’s-feather  and 
Love-lies-bleeding,  even  when  they  first  creep  out  of  the 
ground,  are  brilliant  red,  announcing  the  blossom  from  afar; 
those  of  the  Caladium  bicolor,  Cissies  discolor,  Physurus 
pictus,  Ancectochilus  argenteus  and  setaceus,  Plectranthus  con- 
color,  and  many  others,  are  variegated  with  all  the  hues  of 
summer  gardens,  and  outshine  tens  of  thousands  of  actual 
flowers.  In  the  genus  Tillandsia  they  are  often  striped  as 
if  with  rainbows.  It  is  not  implied,  or  at  least  it  is  not  a 
rule,  that  richly-tinted  leaves  predict  richly-tinted  flowers  as 
coming  by  and  by  upon  the  same  stem,  Prefigurement 
may  or  may  not  refer  thus  particularly;  its  tidings  are  for 
■ the  most  part  of  a future  glory  in  nature  as  a whole.  The 
flowers  of  plants  are  foretold  also  by  the  bracteas  and  even 
by  the  calyces  of  certain  kinds.  Such  is  the  case  with  the 
Euphorbia  splendens,  several  species  of  Salvia,  the  Hydran- 
gea, and  the  white-winged  Musscenda  frondosa.  By  means 
of  their  veins  and  other  peculiarities,  leaves  in  other  cases 
ap[)rize  us  of  the  very  configuration  of  the  tree  they  are 
building  up.  The  angle  at  which  the  veins  diverge  is  often 
the  same  as  that  which  the  branches  make  with  regard  to  the 
trunk;  where  the  leaves  arc  sessile,  the  stem  is  usually  set 
with  branches  down  to  the  very  ground;  whore  they  are 


PREFIGURATION  IN  PLANTS. 


437 


petiolate,  the  stem  is  also  naked  to  a considerable  height. 
‘‘So  far/’  say  Dickie  and  McCosh,  “as  we  have  been  able  to 
generalize  a very  extensive  series  of  facts  before  us,  we  are 
inclined  to  lay  down  the  provisional  law  that  the  whole 
leafage  coming  out  at  one  place  on  the  stem  corresponds  to 
the  whole  plant,  and  that  the  venation  of  each  single  leaf 
corresponds  to  the  ramification  of  a branch.”*  In  certain 
mosses,  as  the  Hypnum  dendroides  and  Hypnum  alopecurum, 
may  be  found  miniatures  of  every  tree  in  an  arboretum. 

249.  The  presignificance  of  Animal  forms  and  economy 
by  plants  extend  to  the  whole  of  their  organic  functions, 
many  of  their  very  organs,  even  to  their  spontaneous  move- 
ments, their  habits  and  qualities.  As  regards  structure,  the 
soft  parts  of  the  animal  body  are  foretold  by  the  succulent 
portion  of  the  plant ; the  veins  and  blood  by  the  ducts  and 
vessels,  with  their  rills  of  sap;  the  bones  by  its  strong  skele- 
ton of  woody  fibre.f  What  is  the  nature  of  vegetable 
Feeding  lias  been  shown  in  a former  chapter.  It  may  be 
added  that  the  eating  of  organized  food,  esteemed  so  pecu- 
liarly distinctive  of  animals,  has  its  prefigurement  in  the 
Drosera  and  Dioncea;  those  curious  little  plants  already 
mentioned  on  p.  63,  which  by  means  of  appendages  to  their 


* Typical  Forms  and  Special  Ends  in  Creation,  Book  2,  chap.  2, 
(1856.)  See  which  excellent  work  for  abundant  illustration  of  the 
facts  adverted  to. 

f Nowhere  in  nature  are  there  more  finished  examples  of  skele- 
tons than  occur  in  plants.  Those  furnished  by  the  capsules  of  the 
Stramonium,  the  Henbane,  and  the  Campanula,  and  by  the  leaves 
of  the  holly,  poplar,  and  Indian  fig,  when  grouped  and  glass-shaded 
like  wax-flowers,  are  fit  ornaments  for  the  most  recherche  drawing- 
room. The  best  are  obtained  by  artificial  maceration,  hut  singularly 
beautiful  specimens  often  occur  among  the  natural  relics  of  the  au- 
tumn. The  Indian  fig-leaves  are  those  imported  from  China. 

37 


488 


SLEEP  OF  PLANTS. 


leaves,  entrap  the  smaller  kinds  of  insects,  as  flies  are  on 
snared  in  spiders'  webs,  and  then  appear  to  suck  and  ab- 
sorb their  juices.  From  June  to  August,  Avhen  the  English 
species  of  these  vegetable  carnivora  are  most  active,  there  is 
scarcely  a leaf  in  which  we  may  not  see  either  a recently- 
caught  victim,  or  the  desiccated  relics  of  a former  one. 
Vegetable  Sleep  is  that  relaxation  of  the  vital  processes 
which  is  indicated  by  the  folding  together  and  drooping  of 
the  leaves  as  night  approaches,  prefiguring  the  listlessness 
and  supine  attitude  of  the  dormant  animal,  and  further,  in 
the  beautiful  jflienomenon  of  the  closing,  eyelid-like,  of  the 
petals  of  the  flowers,  so  charming  to  watch  in  the  stillness 
of  summer  twilight.  All  plants  do  not  exhibit  these  pheno- 
mena, but  there  are  probably  none  which  do  not  experience 
a periodical  repose  (at  least  when  they  are  in  a state  of 
growth  and  inflorescence),  eminently  beneficial  to  their 
health,  whether  marked  by  external  change  or  not.  It  is 
not  to  be  understood  that  there  is  actual  sleep  in  plants. 
Real  sleep  occurs  only  where  animal  functions  are  super- 
added  to  simply  vegetative  ones.  The  classes  of  plants 
wherein  the  prefiguration  of  sleep  is  chiefly  conspicuous  are 
the  Leguminosse  and  the  Compositae,  the  former  closing 
their  leaves,  and  the  latter  their  flowers.  Strikingly  beau- 
tiful examples  occur  also  in  the  water-lilies,  the  crocus,  and 
the  poppy,  lulled  as  it  were  by  its  own  Lethean  balm. 
Those  plants  which  do  not  open  their  flowers  till  sunset,  as 
the  Evening-primrose,  or  until  night  is  far  advanced,  as  the 
Cereus  grandiflorus,  seem  to  be  the  harbingers  in  the  vege- 
table world,  of  those  nocturnal  birds,  animals,  and  insects 
which  are  active  only  after  dark,  when  all  others  are  asleep. 
The  Night-scented  stock,  and  other  flowers  which  are  fra- 
grant only  or  chiefly  in  the  evening,  are  the  heralds  of  the 
nightingale.  Certain  other  ])lants  agree  with  certain  other 
kinds  of  birds  in  being  peculiarly  matutinal.  Go  out  as 


REPRODUCTION  OF  PLANTS. 


439 


early  as  we  will,  we  find  the  delicate  white  bells  of  the  wild 
convolvulus  in  the  dewy  hedge,  and  the  rich  imperial  purple 
and  crimson  ones  in  the  garden,  just  as  we  are  never  too 
soon  for  the  chaffinch,  the  blackbird,  and  the  lark.  More 
wonderfully  yet  is  Procreation  foretold  by  plants.  The  ap- 
paratus, the  mode,  the  circumstances,  the  results,  all  are  de- 
licately, but  explicitly  and  fully  announced.  The  lower 
kinds  of  plants,  as  fungi  and  lichens,  wherein  distinctness  of 
sexual  organization  is  imperfect,  point  to  sponges  and  their 
congeners;  the  higher  kinds,  as  roses  and  apple-trees,  which 
have  male  and  female  as  plainly  marked  as  in  mankind, 
prefigure  in  this  respect,  mammals,  birds,  insects,  and  all 
the  nobler  animate  beings.  Every  individual  flower  on  a 
given  plant  is  a fore-shining  of  the  nest  of  the  bird,  and  the 
lair  of  the  quadruped,  and  consummately,  in  its  beautiful, 
silken,  shielding  petals,  of  the  inmost  curtained  sanctuary 
of  married  love.  The  very  colors  and  the  fragrance  per- 
form a part  in  the  exquisite  proem,  being  to  the  flower  what 
sensation  is  to  the  creature,  and  emotion  and  sentiment  to 
man.  It  is  by  reason  of  what  it  foretells,  that  the  flower  is 
so  lovely.  So  near  is  the  plant  lifted  towards  the  animal 
world,  during  the  period  of  its  sexual  activity,  that  it  be- 
comes illuminated  by  the  light  of  human  love,  reflecting  the 
loveliness  of  the  higher  nature,  like  woods  made  musical  by 
the  descent  into  them  of  the  singing  birds.  As  with  Sleep, 
there  is  no  genuine  sex  in  plants ; this  belongs  purely  to  the 
animal  world.  The  hymeneal  hour  gone  by,  and  fertiliza- 
tion accomplished,  the  rudimentary  seed  begins  to  form, 
giving  a presage  of  antenatal  existence,  followed  in  turn  by 
a prefigurement  of  parturition  in  the  bursting  of  the  pod, 
and  the  escape  of  the  ripened  seeds.  Finally,  the  seed  itself, 
while  in  course  of  formation,  is  connected  with  the  ovarium 
by  a funis ; when  detached,  it  is  marked  with  an  umbilical 
scar  Even  lactation  is  prefigured  in  plants.  The  germi- 


440 


ANIMAL  FORMS  FORKTOLI)  RY  PLANTS. 


jiatiiig  embryo  of  the  seed,  too  small  and  tender  to  live  by 
itself,  has  vegetable  mammae  provided  for  it  in  the  cotyle- 
dons, which,  white  and  rounded,  nourish  it  with  their  sweet, 
milk-like  contents.  In  the  two  large  white  symmetrical 
halves  of  the  almond,  the  filbert,  the  acorn,  the  bean,  we  see 
this  exemplified  in  perfection.  They  are  no  part  of  the  fu- 
ture plant,  which  grows  entirely  out  of  the  little  hinge-like 
body  lying  at  the  point  where  they  unite.  Everywhere  in 
nature  the  mother’s  bosom  is  foretold.  The  streams  which 
‘‘  give  drink  to  every  beast  of  the  field,  where  the  wild  asses 
quench  their  thirst,”  are  its  adumbrations  in  the  great  world 
of  inorganic  nature ; to  flow  with  milk  and  honey”  is  the 
poetical  or  natural  metaphor  for  the  irrigation  of  a thirsty 
land  with  nutrient  rivers.  Rocks  and  towering  mountains 
have  a terrible  and  romantic  grandeur,  but  the  beauty  of 
earth  lies  in  those  round,  gently-swelling  hills  and  eminences 
which  the  French  so  appropriately  call  mamelons.  Not  that 
the  figure  is  a modern  one.  The  Greeks  termed  such  hills 
rtrdot  and  fiaaroc.  A mound  of  this  form  at  Samos,  Calli- 
machus calls  the  breast  of  Parthenia.” 

250.  The  special  prefigurations  of  animal  ideas  by  plants 
are  no  less  striking  than  the  general.  Thus,  in  the  large, 
white,  ovoid  berry  of  the  Solamim  Melongena  or  “ Egg- 
plant,” we  have  the  egg  of  the  domestic  fowl ; in  the  pods 
of  certain  leguminous  plants,  bivalve  shells,  with  their  occu- 
pants; in  the  stem  of  the  Testudinaria,  a tortoise;  in  the 
seed  of  the  Ophiocaryon,  a coiled-up  serpent,  with  glaring 
eyes,  ready  to  dart  iqion  its  prey.  The  caterpillar  is  seen  in 
tlie  pod  of  the  Scorpiurus;  the  antlers  of  the  stag  in  the 
leaves  of  the  AcrodicJmm  alcic.orne;  the  cocoa-nut  gives  tid- 
ings of  tlie  round  brown  liead  and  comical  visage  of  the 
moid<cy.  Fishes  are  not  the  first  beings  to  be  clothed  with 
s(5ales;  they  are  antici])ated  on  the  leaves  of  the  Ilippophae 
and  El(i(’Ai(j)hUH;  tlie  hair,  wool,  and  fur  of  terrestrial  crea- 


ANIMAL  FORMS  FORETOLD  BY  PLANTS. 


441 


tures  are  similarly  announced  by  the  vestures  of  the  Gna* 
jphalium  and  Verbascum,  while  many  ferns  have  their  stems 
covered  with  ^t^asi-plumage.  The  unexpanded  buds  of  the 
great  Shield-fern,  Mr.  Gosse  compares  to  the  shell  of  the 
Trochus  magus,  (Aquarium,  p.  70.)  The  names  Lagurus, 
BirdVfoot,  Cock’s-comb,  Echinocactus,  Phytelephas,*  and  a 
hundred  others,  refer  to  foreshadowings  of  the  same  cha- 
racter. So  with  the  title  of  the  large  and  beautiful  family 
called  Papilionacece,  literally,  ‘‘the  Butterflies,”  typically 
represented  in  the  Sweet-pea.  In  these  we  see  Nature’s 
first  step  towards  the  Insect-world,  or  at  least  towards  the 
lepidopterous  class.  “The  insect-world,”  says  Coleridge, 
“taken  at  large,  appears  an  intenser  life,  that  has  struggled 
itself  loose,  and  become  emancipated  from  vegetation.  Floroe 
liherti  et  libertini!  If,  for  the  sake  of  a moment’s  relaxa- 
tion, we  might  indulge  a Darwinian  flight,  we  might  ima- 
gine the  life  of  insects  an  apotheosis  of  the  petals,  stamens, 
and  nectaries  round  which  they  flutter.”  There  is  no  need 
for  this;  there  is  ample  delight  in  the  simple  truth  of  the 
preflguration,  which  ranks  with  the  loveliest  in  nature.  In 
that  charming  book,  “Episodes  of  Insect  Life,”  there  is  a 
long  discourse  upon  the  subject,  to  which  the  interested  in  it 
should  not  fail  to  refer. f It  is  not  a little  curious  that  the 
moths  called  from  the  time  of  their  appearance  “ night-flyers,” 
are  generally  of  a subdued  tone  of  color,  corresponding  with 
that  prevalent  in  the  nocturnal  flowers.  More  prefigurative 
even  than  the  Papilionacese  are  the  Orchids,  which  present 


* “Phytelephas’’  is  the  appropriate  name  of  the  palm,  the  seeds 
of  which,  commonly  known  as  Vegetable  ivory,  have  now  so  exten- 
sively superseded  the  tusk  of  the  elephant,  as  regards  parasol  and 
umbrella  handles,  and  the  numberless  little  articles  of  the  toy-shop 
and  ladies’  work-boxes. 

t Vol.  1,  p.  306.  See  also  Vol.  2,  pp.  294,  295. 


442 


ORCIIIDEOUS  PLANTS. 


the  forms  not  only  of  insects,  but  of  birds,  and  even  reptiles. 
Even  our  indigenous  species,  next  to  the  ferns  the  most 
attractive  of  British  plants,  mount  so  high  towards  animality, 
that  we  discern  in  different  kinds  the  bee,  the  wasp,  the 
butterfly,  and  the  spider.  The  European  Orchids  are  ter- 
restrial plants,  but  the  tropical  and  principal  part  of  the 
family  are  epiphytes y that  is,  instead  of  anchoring  in  the 
earth,  like  the  mass  of  vegetation,  they  perch  upon  other 
plants,  and  usually  upon  trees,  in  the  clefts  of  which  they 
lodge.  Thus  lifting  themselves  away  from  the  earth,  they 
beautifully  presignify  the  aerial  life,  as  well  as  the  forms  of 
bird  and  insect;  and  in  the  tenuity  of  their  flower-stems, 
whereby  the  blossoms  seem  to  flutter  in  the  air,  predict  even 
the  animal  freedom  from  all  bonds,  and  j^reeminently  the 
living  liberty  given  by  wings.  The  inclinations  which 
prompt  both  the  Orchids  and  all  other  epiphytes  to  forsake 
the  earth,  and  seek  the  friendly  support  of  stronger  plants, 
are  the  first  prophecies  and  signs  of  volition  and  social  sen- 
timent. Actual  motion  is  prefigured  in  the  Sensitive-plants, 
described  on  page  18.  As  regards  the  natures,  habits,  and 
peculiar  phenomena  of  animals,  vicious  and  poisonous  ones 
are  foreshadowed  in  the  nettle;*  the  sharp  and  rending  teeth 
of  wild  beasts  in  thorns  and  thistles.  There  are  grasses 
which  anticipate  the  camel  in  providing  against  drought; 
the  phosphorescence  of  the  glow-worm  and  the  fire-fly  is  a 
brightening  of  the  light  which  first  shines  in  the  Ehizo- 
morpha  and  the  luminous  Agarics;  the  juice  of  the  Sangui- 
naria  is  like  blood;  that  of  the  Palo  de  Vaca,  or  Cow-tree, 


* Tlic  Nettle-plants,  says  vSchleiclen,  are  ‘Hlie  serpents  of  the  vege- 
table kingdom.  The  similarity  between  the  instruments  with  whieh 
both  j)rodiiee  and  poison  their  wounds  is  very  remarkable.”  See 
liis  minute  aeeount  of  the  apparatus,  and  a drawing  of  the  nettle- 
sting,  in  ‘‘The  Plant,  a Biograi)hy,”  Lecture  YlII.,  pp.  199,  200. 


THE  WALNUT,  POMEGRANATE,  &G 


443 


is  like  milk,  not  only  in  color,  but  in  fitness  for  human  food. 
In  a few  cases  the  23refigurations  point  directly  towards 
mankind.  Such  are  those  which  occur  in  the  Orchis  mas- 
cula,  the  Uvularia,  the  Phallus,  and  the  Clitoria,  names 
sufficiently  descriptive  of  their  extraordinary  nature.  In 
the  walnut  is  a hint  of  the  human  head.  The  shell  is  the 
skull ; the  kernel,  white,  oval,  convex,  curiously  convoluted, 
and  enclosed  in  two  delicate  membranes,  is  the  brain. 
Because  of  this  resemblance,  this  fruit  is  in  its  native  Eastern 
countries,  called  the  brain-nut.”  The  stems  of  the  Balsam, 
the  Stellaria,  the  Carnation,  and  their  allies,  prefigure,  in 
their  long  slender  shafts  and  peculiar  joints,  the  bones  of  the 
leg  and  arm.  ‘‘  The  stalk  which  supjDorts  the  leaflets  of  a spe- 
cies of  JEsculus  (the  Horse-chesnut)  exactly  resembles  a 
bone  of  the  hand  or  foot;  while  in  the  Manna  ash  we  have 
four  or  more  pieces  of  like  shape,  forming  the  main  stalk  of 
the  compound  leaf,  separating  at  the  joints,  and  resembling 
a series  of  phalanges,  as  in  a finger  or  toe.”*  Far  above 
all,  is  the  exquisite  presignificance  conveyed  in  the  pome- 
granate, which,  newly  ripe,  and  before  the  crown  has 
expanded,  is  a perfect  representation  of  the  full-grown  virgin 
breast.  Some  varieties  of  apples  bear  a similar  resemblance, 
furnishing  one  of  the  most  beautiful  metaphors  of  Greek 
poetry : in  Theocritus,  for  instance,  ^d?<a  red 
‘‘thy  downy  apples.”  (xxvii.  48.)  In  that  truly  elegant 
descriptive  pastoral,  hardly  inferior  to  any  in  Theocritus, 
“The  Garden  of  Phyllion”  of  Aristsenetus,  apples  floating 
down  the  stream  in  which  she  is  bathing,  are  mistaken  for 
Limona’s  breasts  by  her  companion : — 

But  my  love’s  bosom  oft  deceived  my  eye, 

Kesembling  those  fair  fruits  that  glided  by ; 


* Dickie  and  McCosh,  p.  185. 


444 


LANGUAGE  OF  FLOWEKS. 


For  when  I thonglit  Jier  swelling  breast  to  clasp, 

An  apple  met  my  disappointed  grasp.* 

In  the  poetry  of  the  Orientals,  we  find  the  pomegranate  fur- 
nishing similar  allusions.  The  temple  of  Solomon,  which 
in  its  every  circumstance  and  particular,  was  representative 
and  antetypical  of  the  Christian  church,  was,  on  account  of 
the  correspondence  of  the  female  bosom,  largely  adorned 
with  pomegranates  of  gold. 

251.  The  presignificance  of  mental  and  moral  qualities 
by  plants  is  fully  as  extensive  as  that  of  organic  structure 
and  configuration.  This  arises,  of  course,  from  the  corre- 
spondence which  subsists  between  the  material  and  the  spi- 
ritual worlds.  The  former,  as  the  representative  of  the 
latter,  must  needs  prefigure  it.  Thus  the  box-tree  foretells 
stoicism  ; the  chamomile-plant  energy  and  patience  in  ad- 
versity ; the  ash  and  mulberry  prefigure  prudence ; the  net- 
tle is  a presage  of  spitefulness;  trees  like  the  Hernandia,  that 
make  a great  display  of  foliage,  but  produce  no  fruit  of  any 
value,  apprize  us  of  pretentious  but  emjity  boasters.  It  was 
not  from  their  mere  commercial  value  that  the  dowry  of  a 
Greek  bride  was  paid  in  olive  plants,  any  more  than  it  is  from 
mere  fancy  that  the  English  one  wears  a wreath  of  orange- 
blossom.  It  prefigures  the  virtues  and  the  aptitudes  which 
adorn  and  should  appear  in  the  wife.  The  leaves  are  green 


* Compare  Aristophanes,  Lysistrata,  155 ; and  Acharnenses,  1198 ; 
also  the  allusion  in  that  charming  little  poem  in  the  fourth  book  of 
the  Anthologia  (De  I^osch,  vol.  2,  p.  420),  beginning  rav  cK(pvyovaav 
jjLarfjos,  and  descriptive  of  Venus  rising  from  the  sea.  See  likewise, 
Wbartoifs  Theocritus,  vol.  2,  pp.  290-299;  4to.,  1770.  Why,  in  an- 
cient times,  the  apple  was  sacred  to  Venus,  is  easy  to  understand. 
The  curious  may  read  concerning  its  symbolic  use,  the  Hierogly- 
phim  of  Pierius,  lab.  ITV.,  cap.  1-14,  de  malo  (pp.  573-577),  and 
Alciati,  liJ'mbLeinala,  j).  814. 


PREFIGURATIONS  IN  THE  ANIMAL  KINGDOM.  445 


all  the  year  round ; flowers  white  and  fragrant,  fruits  full 
grown,  and  others  in  youngest  infancy,  are  always  to  be 
seen  on  this  beautiful  tree.  We  may  gather  from  Scripture 
why  the  ancients  placed  palm-branches  in  the  hands  of  their 
statues  of  Temperance  and  Cheerfulness,  and  why  in  Egypt 
a vine  was  the  hieroglyph  of  intelligence.  Many  plants  are 
social,  or  often  found  in  each  other’s  company.  Between 
others  there  exists  a kind  of  discord  or  enmity;  that  is,  they 
do  not  flourish  when  in  proximity,  and  seem  even' to  render 
the  soil  unfit  for  each  other’s  support.  Others  again  inflict 
injury  by  their  peculiar  twining  and  constricting  mode  of 
growth ; others  by  the  deep  shade  they  cast.  ‘‘  Orobanche,” 
the  name  of  a well  known  genus  of  parasitic  plants,  means 
literally  the  ‘‘vetch-strangler.”  In  the  tribe  of  grasses, 
which  invariably  grow  in  company,  we  see  the  gregarious 
instinct  foreshadowed.  In  other  cases,  there  is  love  of 
solitude  and  seclusion. 

252.  Chiefly  of  this  latter  nature  are  the  i3refigurations 
which  occur  in  the  last  or  Animal  kingdom.  The  mineral 
having  foretold  the  plant,  and  the  plant  the  animal,  this  last 
can  do  no  more  than  point  to  Intellect  and  Affections.  All 
that  is  presignifled  by  plants  wdth  regard  to  human  charac- 
ter, is  reiterated,  and  with  new  emphasis,  by  animals,  in  their 
various  habits,  economies,  and  instincts.  Language  is  fore- 
told in  their  various  cries ; singing  in  the  warbling  of  the 
birds — next  to  the  voice  of  woman,  the  sweetest  melody  in 
nature.  To  this  no  doubt  is  owing  that  peculiar  and 
striking  adaptation  to  the  human  ear  of  the  music  of  birds 
which  makes  it  the  most  tender  and  beautiful  relation  by 
which  man  is  connected  with  the  external  world.  Human 
Art  is  preceded  in  the  fabricative  instincts,  as  of  the  bee, 
the  wasp,  and  the  beaver.  Democritus  contended  that  men 
learnt  weaving  from  spiders,  and  architecture  from  the  nest- 
builders.  Citizenship  and  social  compact  are  prefigured  in 
38 


446  PREFIGURATIONS  IN  THE  ANIMAL  KINGDOM. 


the  gregarious  animals,  as  the  antelopes  and  the  deer.  Pa- 
rental affection,  anger,  vanity,  courage,  cowardice,  mildness, 
fidelity,  grief,  artifice,  rapacity,  all  have  their  first  shows  in 
different  creatures,  and  after  the  same  manner ; i,  e,,  only  as 
shows,  inasmuch  as  they  remain,  like  the  architecture  and  the 
warbling,  the  same  from  age  to  age  and  everywhere,  whereas 
in  mankind  they  are  local  and  elastic.  In  the  canine  race 
is  prefigured  even  the  sentiment  of  veneration.  To  a noble- 
spirited  dog,  a kind  and  generous  master  is  a god. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


THE  CHAIN  OF  NATURE, 

253.  The  Chain  of  Nature,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of 
philosophic  truths,  is  at  the  same  time  one  of  the  most  de- 
fectively understood.  It  would  seem  to  be  the  fate  of  all 
great  truths  to  be  most  familiar  to  the  world  under  the 
guise  of  some  mistaken  apprehension.  As  popularly  re- 
garded, it  has  its  likeness  in  Bishop  Berkeley’s  celebrated 
book  called  Siris,  which  begins  with  the  medicinal  virtues 
of  tar-water,  and  insensibly  mounting  upwards,  through 
every  variety  of  learning,  ends  in  a discourse  upon  the  Tri- 
nity. The  genuine  Chain  of  nature  is  another  thing  alto- 
gether. Plants  are  higher  in  the  scale  of  being  than  mine- 
rals, and  animals  than  plants,  and  in  each  kingdom  there  are 
series  of  forms,  successively  more  and  more  complex ; but 
there  is  none  of  that  complete  and  absolute  progression  from 
the  lowest  mineral  to  the  highest  animal,  which  is  ordinarily 
supposed.  Such  a sequence  is  not  only  not  consonant  with 
the  true  principles  of  harmony  and  symmetrical  disposition, 
but  at  variance  with  them ; certainly  it  is  not  borne  out 
either  by  analogy  or  facts.  The  appearances,  as  we  shall 
see  presently,  in  which  the  popular  belief  originated,  and 
which  are  esteemed  its  evidence  and  verification,  prove,  not 
as  most  frequently  happens  in  matters  of  testimony,  too  lit- 
tle, but  too  much.  They  prove,  not  that  there  is  a chain, 
but  that  there  are  thousands,  nay,  millions  of  chains.  The 
idea  is  an  exceedingly  ancient  one.  Macrobius  thinks  it  im 


448 


homer’s  golden  chain. 


tended  in  the  famous  ‘‘golden  chain’’  of  Homer.  “Since 
all  things,”  says  he,  “follow  in  continuous  succession,  de- 
generating in  order,  to  the  very  bottom  of  the  series,  the 
more  attentive  observer  will  discover  a connection  of  parts, 
down  from  the  Supreme  God  to  the  last  off-scouring  of  na- 
ture, mutually  linked  together,  and  without  any  interrup- 
tion. And  this  is  Homer’s  golden  chain,  which  he  tells  us 
Jupiter  ordained  to  be  let  down  from  heaven  to  earth.”* 
In  the  27th  Dissertation  of  the  accomplished  and  delightful 
Maximus  Tyrius,  it  is  adduced  with  a view  to  illustrating 
the  nature  of  Socrates’  datficov  or  guardian  angel,  the  sub- 
ject of  this  and  the  preceding  discourse.  In  nature,  he 
tells  us,  there  is  a regular  gradation  of  being,  commencing 
with  God,  and  terminating  with  plants,  each  rank  of  exist- 
ence being  connected  with  one  above,  and  one  below,  by  the 
union  of  different  qualities  in  the  same  body.  The  3a:/jLOV£^ 
partake  of  the  divine  nature  on  the  one  hand,  and  of  the 
human  on  the  other.  In  modern  times  the  idea  has  had 
the  support  of  Addison,  Locke,  and  Dugald  Stewart.  “ Na- 
ture,” says  Addison,  “ is  filled  up  with  divers  kinds  of  crea- 
tures, rising  one  above  another  by  such  a gentle  and  easy 
ascent,  that  the  little  transitions  and  deviations  from  one 
species  to  another  are  almost  insensible.”  (Spectator  579.) 
Locke’s  account  occurs  in  the  Essay  on  the  Human  Under- 
standing, (Book  iii.  chap.  6,)  finishing  with  a rather  amusing 
allusion  to  “ what  is  confidently  reported  of  mermaidsJ’  Du- 
gald Stewart’s  may  be  found  in  the  Outlines  of  Moral  Phi- 
losophy, section  109.  To  no  one,  however,  does  the  hypoth- 
esis owe  so  much  as  to  the  enthusiastic  Genevese  naturalist, 
Charles  Bonnet.  In  his  work  entitled  “ Contemplation  de 


* Cumfjue  omnia  continuis,  &c.  In  Somnium  Scipionis  Com* 
nicnt.,  Lib.  I.  cap.  xiv. 


bonnet’s  hypothesis. 


449 


la  Nature/’  he  takes  up  the  proposition  of  Leibnitz,  that 
everything  in  the  universe  is  connected,  and  that  nature 
makes  no  leaps.  This — unlike  the  German  philosopher, 
who  confines  its  application  to  successive  events,  having  the 
relation  of  causes  and  effects,  or  at  most  to  the  reciprocal 
action  and  reaction  of  cotemporary  beings — Bonnet  extends, 
with  astonishing  ingenuity,  to  the  forms  of  those  beings. 
Commencing  with  the  consideration  of  the  ruder  and  more 
simple  substances  of  our  planet,  he  successively  introduces 
us  to  minerals,  plants,  and  animals,  mounting  through  the 
various  species  of  the  latter  up  to  man,  and  exhibiting  his 
conclusions,  at  the  last,  in  a kind  of  therrnometrical  table. 
At  the  bottom  we  have  matieres  plus  suhtiles,  then  feu,  then 
air,  then  eau,  and  at  the  top  rHommef^  Unfolded  with  the 
sprightliest  eloquence,  the  enchanting  picture  could  not  fail 
to  gain  many  admirers,  and  for  a long  period  naturalists 
busied  themselves  in  filling  up  the  vacancies  which  the  want 
of  observation,  in  their  view,  still  left  in  Bonnet’s  scale,  the 
discovery  of  an  additional  link  being  an  object  of  their 
greatest  interest  and  delight.  In  Applegarth’s  Theological 
Survey  (p.  270)  we  are  treated  to  a panorama  still  more 
extensive,  namely,  a scale  of  being  of  which  the  foot  is  the 
magnet,  and  the  apex  the  cherubim.  This  last  carries  out 
the  idea  entertained  by  many,  both  before  and  after,  that 
man  himself  is  only  an  intermediate ; in  other  words,  that 
there  are  as  many  varieties  of  animated  existence  above  him 
as  there  are  below,  successively  nearer  and  nearer  to  the 
Almighty.  There  is  no  more  substantial  ground  for  such  a 


* The  table  in  question  forms  the  frontispiece  to  Vol.  I.  of  the 
collected  works  (Neuchatel,  1781),  the  ^^Contemplation’’  being  in 
Vol.  ly.  The  original  publication,  in  2 vols.  8vo,  was  seventeen 
years  earlier. 

38 


450  MAN  THE  HIGHEST  OF  CREATED  FORMS. 

belief  than  for  the  hypothesis  of  an  exact  sequence  of  ter- 
restrial things.  There  are  only  three  orders  of  being  in  the 
universe,  the  Absolute,  the  rational  finite,  and  the  irrational 
finite,  or  God,  man,  and  what  is  inferior  to  man.  Degrees 
of  celestial  intelligence  and  authority  we  may  readily  sup- 
pose, as  one  star  differeth  from  another  in  glory there 
are  men  who  are  greater  than  man  as  he  is  here,  but  there 
is  no  form  superior  to  the  human.  If  the  human  form  be 
as  Kevelation  intimates,  “ the  image  of  God,’’  there  can  be 
no  room  for  intermediate  forms.  The  name  of  “angel”  as 
said  before,  is  a designation,  not  of  difference  of  nature,  but 
of  office.  The  angels  themselves  are  both  in  the  Old  Testa- 
ment and  the  New,  called  indifferently  “ angels  and  men.” 
Compare  verses  1 to  16  of  Genesis  xix.,  and  verses  4 and 
23  of  Luke  xxix.  The  correct  rendering  of  the  only  text 
in  Scripture  which  seems  to  countenance  the  opinion  that 
angels  are  nobler  in  the  scale  of  being  than  mankind,  teaches, 
not  as  the  common  version  has  it,  that  man  is  “ a little 
lower  than  the  angels, but  “ a little  lower  than  Elohim.^^ 
The  Psalm  in  which  the  words  occur  is  a kind  of  resume  of 
the  Mosaic  history  of  the  creation,  and  simply  repeats  in 
other  terms,  that  “ God  created  man  in  his  own  image.” 

254.  It  is  possible,  unquestionably,  and  easy,  to  pick  out 
a series  of  forms  which  can  be  placed,  as  by  Bonnet,  so  as 
to  stand  in  a seeming  natural  sequence.  But  to  effect  this 
as  many  more  must  be  left  aside,  which  cannot  be  incorpo- 
rated either  into  the  same,  or  into  any  linear  scale.  A true 
“chain  of  being”  would  not  only  provide  places  for  all 
things  without  exception,  but  demand  them  as  indispensable 
to  its  construction.  Things  are  related  by  so  curious  and 
vast  a variety  of  particulars,  that  if  we  attempt  to  arrange 
them  in  an  exact  scries  and  gradation,  violence  is  done  at 
every  stop  to  some  close  affinity,  one  point  of  resemblance 
being  necessarily  neglected  for  the  sake  of  another,  and  the 


TRUE  IDEA  OF  NATURAL  AFFINITIES. 


451 


determination  where  each  species  shall  be  located  becomes 
almost  entirely  a matter  of  fancy.  Which  are  the  plants, 
for  example,  best  deserving  to  be  placed  next  to  animals? 
Nothing  is  more  like  an  animal  than  the  Sensitive-plant,  as 
regards  its  power  of  movement,  yet  the  Sensitive-plant  is  the 
very  furthest  removed  from  what  naturalists  universally 
call  the  “zoophytes.”  Even  a chain-like  classification  of 
the  forms  belonging  to  the  separate  departments  of  nature 
becomes  practicable,  if  attempted  on  a scale  of  any  extent, 
only  by  such  artificial  and  conventional  methodizing  as  the 
thirteen  andrian  classes  of  the  botanical  system  of  Linmeus. 
Natural  orders,  classes,  &c.  do  certainly  follow  one  another 
seriatim  in  books,  as  if  it  were  so  in  nature,  but  this  is  purely 
an  exigency  of  the  pen.  In  writing,  we  must  needs  begin 
with  something,  and  go  on,  and  finish  with  something,  just 
as  in  order  to  survey  the  world,  we  must  start  from  a specific 
point.  The  real  relation  of  natural  orders  and  classes,  and 
no  less  so  of  species,  is  that  of  the  provinces  of  a great  em- 
pire, every  one  of  which  is  in  marginal  contact  with  many 
others.  It  is  under  the  influence  of  this  insight  that  those 
grand  theories  of  classification  have  been  conceived  which 
arrange  the  objects  of  nature  after  the  manner  of  solar  sys- 
tems, the  highest  forms  being  placed  as  centres,  and  the 
lower  ones  round  about  them;  these,  latter  gradually  ap- 
proximating towards  other  centres.  “This  radiation,  as  it 
were,”  says  Kirby,  “from  a typical  form  as  a centre,  by 
various  roads  towards  different  tribes,  seems  to  prove  that 
the  world  of  animals,  as  well  as  that  of  heavenly  bodies, 
consists  of  numerous  systems,  each  with  its  central  orb.  . . 

From  the  genus  Patella,  among  the  mollus- 
cous animals,  by  different  and  diverging  routes,  we  may 
arrive  at  almost  any  molluscan  group  or  tribe.”  (Bridge- 
water  Treatise,  p.  275.)  In  the  vegetable  kingdom  it  is  the 
same.  Families  most  unlike  in  the  total  of  their  characters. 


452 


THEORY  OF  REGULAR  GRADATION. 


consociate  by  means  of  planets  which,  thoiigli  remote  from 
their  respective  suns,  are  in  close  proximity  with  one  an- 
other. On  the  other  hand,  wliile  immense  number  of  spe- 
cies, both  of  animals  and  of  plants,  are  so  closely  allied  as 
to  furnish  naturalists  with  ‘‘genera,’’  not  a few  species  stand 
completely  isolated:  on  account  of  their  very  distinct  and 
peculiar  forms,  they  cannot  be  associated  with  any  others. 
To  place  the  whole  in  one  grand  continuous  line  would 
obviously  require  that  sometimes  a solitary  species  should 
be  taken,  at  other  times  vast  suites  of  species.  The  genus 
Erica,  for  example,  the  four  or  five  hundred  species  of  which 
are  all  upon  a level  in  point  of  excellence,  would  have  to 
be  esteemed  as  a single  species.  Legitimately,  there  is  no 
place  in  the  hypothetical  chain  of  nature  for  many  even  of 
the  families  of  living  things — Birds  for  instance,  which  by 
reason  of  their  two  wings,  two  feet,  a bill  either  partly  or 
entirely  horny,  and  a body  covered  with  feathers,  are  dis- 
tinguished so  entirely  from  all  other  animals  as  to  constitute 
an  absolutely  independent  class  of  beings,  merging  into  no 
other  class,  either  above  them  or  below.  Blumenbach,  who 
is  as  fond  of  citing  objections  to  the  hypothesis  of  the  single 
^ chain  as  Bonnet  is  devoted  to  the  assertion  of  it,  remarks  to 
the  same  purpose  concerning  the  Tortoises : “ The  very  pecu- 
liar and  distinct  form  of  this  isolated  group,”  says  he,  “con- 
stitutes a strong  proof  of  the  non-existence  of  the  supposed 
gradation  of  objects  in  nature.” 

255.  That  there  are  mixed  or  transitional  beings  in  na- 
ture, is  as  much  an  hypothesis  as  the  Chain,  being,  in  fact, 
a part  of  it.  Doubtless  there  are  many  curious  organisms 
which  from  some  peculiarity  of  structure,  appear  to  be  com- 
binations of  two  otlier  kinds;  the  whale,  for  example,  which 
in  an  arbitrary  and  poj)u]ar  sense,  conjoins  fishes  to  mam- 
mals. But  it  is  no  mixture  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  word, 
any  more  than  such  acpiatic  plants  as  the  Ranunculus  aqua- 


NO  MIXED  BEINGS  IN  NATURE. 


453 


tilis  and  the  Siiim  imindatum,  with  their  seaweed-like  foliage, 
conjoin  terrestrial  exogens  and  algse.  Connection,  to  a cer- 
tain extent,  there  is  also,  both  in  plants  and  animals.  No 
two  species  are  so  closely  allied,  but  that  there  is  room 
between  them  for  a third,  as  proved  by  the  frequent  disco- 
very of  such  intermediates  in  countries  newly  explored. 
But  this  is  a very  different  thing  from  mixture  or  insensible 
transition.  Lithophytes,  zoophytes,  phytozoa,*  are  mere 
names.  None  of  the  beings  so  designated  are  really  two- 
fold. Nowhere  in  the  world  is  there  an  object  which  may 
be  referred  with  equal  or  even  plausible  propriety,  to  the 
mineral  kingdom  or  to  the  vegetable,  to  the  vegetable  or  to 
the  animal;  or  which,  as  used  to  be  said  of  the  fresh-Avater 
polypus,  is  at  once  “the  last  of  animals,  and  the  first  of 
plants.” 

256.  In  thus  criticizing  the  doctrine  of  the  Chain  of  Being, 
it  is  not  intended  to  imply  that  it  is  current  in  modern 
science.  No  one  who  is  conversant  Avith  the  Avritings  of 
Cuvier,  SAvainson,  or  Bindley,  believes  in  that  universal 
Goveyzta  AAdiich  the  authority  of  Aristotle  Avas  for  centuries 
sufficient  to  certify.  “May  Ave  expect,”  says  Rymer  Jones, 
“ as  we  advance  from  the  lower  types  of  organization  to  such 
as  are  more  perfect,  to  be  led  on  through  an  unbroken  and 
continuous  series  of  creatures,  gradually  rising  in  importance 


* The  vermiform  filaments  contained  in  the  antheridia  of  Charas, 
Mosses,  and  other  cryptogamous  plants,  are  by  some  authors  called 
phytozoa.’^  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say  that  the  term  is  used 
above  as  by  Ehrenberg,  or  in  its  proper,  etymological  sense  of 
“plant-animals,^’  Avhich  should  never  have  been  departed  from. 
The  German  naturalist  Horaninow,  who  divides  the  organic  world 
into  vegetables,  “phytozoa,”  animals  and  Man,  gives  to  the  word  a 
still  greater  ambiguity,  by  including  under  it  the  fungi  and  the 
algae. 


454 


DISCRETE  DEGREES. 


and  complexity  of  structure,  cacli  succeeding  tribe  of  beings 
presenting  an  advance  u})on  tlie  preceding,  and  merging 
insensibly  into  that  which  follows  it?  A very.sliglit  exami- 
nation will  convince  us  to  tlie  contrary.’’  All,  however,  are 
not  scientific  botanists  and  zoologists,  and  so  long  as  po})ular 
authors  continue  blindly  to  re-assert  it,  Bucke,  for  example, 
in  the  Beauties,  Harmonies,  and  Sublimities  of  Nature,” 
so  long  must  the  error  be  met  with  new  exposure.  Besides, 
it  is  by  acquainting  ourselves  with  the  defects  and  inconsist- 
encies of  the  popular  idea,  that  we  become  best  able  to 
appreciate  the  genuine.  Those  who,  with  Bonnet,  sought  so 
ardently  to  establish  it  would  have  escaped  their  pleasing 
illusion  had  they  applied  themselves  to  the  diligent  exami- 
nation of  Species,  in  Natural  History  the  very  basis  of 
accurate  knowledge.  Bonnet  himself  aj)pears  to  have  par- 
ticipated in  that  unwise  contempt  for  the  minute  discrimi- 
nation of  individual  forms  which  at  the  time  he  lived  was 
proscribed  under  the  name  of  “nomenclature,”  and  like 
other  men  of  merit  never  to  have  imagined  its  immense 
value. 

257.  The  true  idea  of  the  Chain  of  Nature  has  for  its 
centre  the  law  of  Discrete  Degrees,* — a law  which  has 
been  several  times  alluded  to,  and  which  the  time  is  now 
come  to  illustrate  specially.  “To-day,”  says  M.  Victor 
Cousin,  “two  great  wants  are  felt  by  man.  The  first,  the 
most  imperious,  is  that  of  fixed,  immutable  principles,  which 
depend  upon  neither  place,  nor  time,  nor  circumstance,  and 


* TJie  reader  to  whom  “ discrete’^  may  be  a new  word,  must  re- 
ceive it  as  signifying  “parted’^  or  “severed.^’  The  term  belongs 
originally  and  properly  to  the  philosophy  of  the  illustrious  Sweden- 
borg, the  first  to  discriminate  the  two-fold  nature  of  Degrees.  See, 
for  his  exposition  of  the  subject,  the  volume  on  the  “Divine  Love 
and  VVisdorn.^^ 


LAW  OF  DISCRETE  DEGREES. 


455 


on  which  the  mind  reposes  with  unbounded  confidence.  In 
all  investigations,  as  long  as  we  have  seized  only  isolated, 
disconnected  facts,  as  long  as  we  have  not  referred  them  to 
a general  law,  we  possess  the  material  of  science,  but  as  yet 
there  is  no  science.  Even  physics  commence  only  when 
universal  truths  appear,  to  which  all  the  facts  of  the  same 
order  that  observation  discovers  to  us  in  nature  may  be  re- 
ferred.’’* In  the  law  of  Discrete  degrees  we  realize  one  of 
these  sterling  principles.  Intelligently  applied,  it  clears 
away  difiSculties  that  are  insuperable  before;  it  puts  us  on 
our  guard  against  merely  apparent  truths,  and  ratifies  and 
shows  the  rationale  of  the  genuine;  and  while  it  exposes 
what  is  false  in  our  preconceived  ideas,  becomes  a means  and 
highway  to  new  and  accurate  ones.  It  is  not  too  much  to 
say  that  it  has  been  the  want  of  an  enlarged  and  philoso- 
phical recognition  of  the  law  of  Discrete  degrees  which  has 
mainly  led  to  many  of  the  grossest  errors  of  materialism, — 
that  spirit,  for  example,  is  only  matter  attenuated  and  etheri- 
alized; — to  the  weary,  iterated  and  reiterated,  but  still  fruitless 
controversies  concerning  instinct  and  reason,  with  the  varied 
evils  that  have  followed  in  their  wake;  to  the  popular  mis- 
conception of  the  Chain  of  Being;  and  though  last,  not 
least,  to  the  mischievous  hypotheses  of  “progressive  develop- 
ment.” The  law  of  Correspondence,  which  is  another  of 
the  sterling  principles  desiderated  by  Victor  Cousin,  and  the 
law  of  Discrete  degrees,  taken  together,  and  properly  de- 
veloped and  applied,  would  form  the  most  efficient  of  all 
possible  aids  to  the  discovery  of  that  grand  philosophic 
ultimatum,  the  System  of  Nature.  Thence  they  wodkl  tend, 
more  than  anything  else,  to  draw  the  conflicts  of  the  various 
schools  of  human  thought  and  speculation  to  a close,  and  to 


* Lectures  on  the  True,  the  Beautiful,  and  the  Good,  p.  33. 


456 


CONTINUOUS  DEGREES. 


supersede  them  witli  a noble  unanimity;  and  bearing  as  they 
do,  on  the  spiritual  no  less  than  on  tlie  material,  would  be- 
come preachers  of  holiness  and  religion.  The  long-looked- 
for,  long-prayed-for  reign  of  God  upon  earth,  cannot  begin 
till  the  reign  of  the  true  science  of  creation,  which  will  be 
at  once  its  harbinger  and  the  plane  for  its  establishment. 

258.  Looking  abroad  upon  the  external  world,  we  find 
everywhere  two  great  modes  of  special  arrangement,  Lati- 
tude or  extension,  and  Altitude  or  elevation.  Exactly 
accordant  with  this  duality  are  the  relations  and  the  proper- 
ties of  all  the  organisms  and  forms  of  nature,  and  of  all  the 
powers  and  principles  of  life.  Those  which  are  represented 
in  latitude  or  extension  are  relations  of  Continuity;  those 
represented  in  altitude  comprise  the  relations  we  term  Dis- 
crete. The  difference  may  be  illustrated  under  the  image 
of  a splendid  mansion.  Discrete  degrees  are  represented  in 
its  successive  floors;  Continuous  degrees  in  the  suites  of 
apartments  which  they  severally  comprise.  Let  us  move 
about  as  much  as  we  will  on  a given  floor,  we  are  still  on 
the  same  level;  it  is  only  when  we  ascend  to  a higher  or 
descend  to  a lower,  that  we  essentially  change  our  position ; 
the  change  is  then,  however,  absolute  and  complete.  So  is 
it  in  nature.  First,  we  have  vast  platforms,  one  above 
another ; secondly,  on  every  platform  innumerable  chambers 
and  noble  galleries,  respectively  adapted  and  appropriated  to 
some  special  use,  possessing  their  own  peculiar  interest  and 
attractions;  also  their  lowest,  superior,  and  most  honorable 
places ; pointing,  moreover,  to  the  platform  next  above,  and 
prefiguring  and  presignifying  its  contents,  but  never  actually 
merging  into  or  coalescing  with  it.  To  define  these  two  kinds 
of  relation  more  particularly,  let  us  take  examples  from 
familiar  nature,  and  first,  as  being  the  simplest,  the  relations 
of  Continuity. 

250.  Continuous  degrees  are  those  which  intervene  be- 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CONTINUITY. 


457 


tween  the  extreme  phases  or  conditions  of  which  any  given 
subject  or  object  is  naturally  susceptible,  and  which  mark 
its  development  and  historic  progress  up  to  the  period  of  its 
consummation.  Thus,  the  progress  of  the  day  is  by  continu- 
ous degrees;  the  night  melts  into  the  dawn,  the  dawn  into 
the  morning,  the  morning  into  noon.  The  influx  of  the  tide 
upon  the  shore  is  by  continuous  degrees ; from  low  water  to 
high,  is  one  long,  unintermittent  flow,  and  the  same  when 
the  waves  retire.  The  march  of  the  Seasons  is  by  continuous 
degrees;  Spring  glides  imperceptibly  into  Summer;  summer 
as  softly  wanes  into  the  year’s  beautiful  old  age,  like  human 
life,  every  day  a little,  and  without  halting  for  a moment. 
The  tinting  of  the  leaves  in  autumn,  commonly  called  the 
fading  of  the  leaves,  is  again  by  continuity.  From  the 
full,  bright,  living  green  of  June,  to  the  not-always  “sere 
and  yellow,”  but  oftentimes  rich  crimson  of  October, — as 
w^hen  a monarch  gathers  his  robes  about  him  that  he  may 
die  royally, — it  is  like  the  painting  of  the  sky  at  the  close  of 
a summer’s  day,  when  the  molten  gold  boils  up  behind  the 
purple  cloud-mountains  of  the  west,  and  the  very  zenith  and 
farthest  east  are  tinted  with  virgin  rose, — one  long,  soft, 
lovely  transfiguration,  such  as  the  eye  in  vain  essays  to 
follow.  Nowhere  in  nature  is  there  a more  beautiful  analogy 
than  this  of  sunset  with  the  “many-colored  woods”  of  the 
year’s  eventide.  Everything  in  plants  is  more  or  less  illus- 
trative of  continuity.  We  see  it  most  remarkably  in  what 
botanists  call  Varieties,  all  of  which  are  sports  within  a 
given  circle.  The  Broccoli  and  the  Cauliflower  are  but 
modifications  of  the  coarse  marine  cabbage.  From  wild 
sour  crabs,  scarcely  larger  than  boys’  marbles,  have  arisen 
all  varieties  of  apples,  not  excluding  the  pippin  and  nonpa- 
reil; the  austere  and  uneatable  sloe  is  the  source  of  the 
luscious  plum ; even  wheat  appears  to  be  the  culmination  of 
an  obscure  grass,  the  JEgilops  ovata.  So  with  many  of  our 
39  U 


458 


THE  THREE  KINGDOMS  OF  NATURE. 


choicest  flowers.  The  innumerable  varieties  of  carnations, 
fuchsias,  pelargoniums,  &c.,  are  all  resolvable  into  some 
simple  and  original  form,  from  which  they  have  arisen  under 
the  stimulus  of  culture,  and  to  which,  in  the  course  of  a 
generation  or  two,  they  relapse  if  left  to  themselves.  The 
choicest  pansies  in  a flower-garden,  if  neglected,  return  in  a 
very  few  years,  in  their  descendants,  to  the  inconspicuous 
Viola  tricolor  of  the  fields.  Were  another  example  needed, 
we  might  point  to  the  various  conditions  of  which  water  is 
susceptible.  According  to  the  amount  of  caloric  present  in 
it,  we  have  ice,  water  properly  so  called,  or  steam.  Between 
the  solid  glacier  and  the  white  clouds  from  the  locomotive, 
there  is  an  exact  continuity  and  gradation,  and  either  ex- 
treme is  convertible  into  the  other.  In  degrees  of  Contin- 
uity, it  will  be  observed,  then,  we  have  relations  merely  of 
state,  not  of  kind,  every  new  aj^pearance  and  condition  being 
developed  out  of  its  immediate  predecessor,  and  limited  to 
externals.  Whatever  the  amount  of  sport,  whether  in  color 
or  configuration,  in  density  or  in  texture,  the  absolute  internal 
nature  .remains  the  same,  just  as  in  regard  to  the  human 
race:  whether  we  take  Caucasians  or  Ethiops,  Bosjemans  or 
Feejee  islanders,  all  are  resolvable  into  the  zoological  species 
Man. 

260.  Where  things  are  diflTerentiated  by  a discrete  degree, 
the  commencement  of  the  new  one  is  not,  as  with  continuity, 
where  the  inferior  or  prior  one  left  off*,  but  on  a distinct  and 
higher  level,  and  under  the  influence  of  new  principles. 
Every  ending  is  absolute,  and  every  beginning  de  novo, 
initiating  an  altogether  nobler  mode  of  existence,  which 
culminates  after  its  own  manner,  and  is  then  succeeded  by 
another.  This  is  most  strikingly  displayed  in  the  relations 
of  the  three  great  kingdoms  of  nature.  Minerals,  Plants, 
and  Animals.  So  far  from  being  true,  as  supposed  by  Con- 
tinuity and  the  ‘‘Vestiges,”  that  the  ending  of  one  joins  the 


EACH  KINGDOM  ON  ITS  OWN  PLATFORM.  459 


foundation  of  the  succeeding,  it  is  here  that  the  affinity  and 
resemblance  are  the  very  slightest.  The  humblest  forms  of 
plants  are  those  which  are  least  like  arborescent  crystalliza- 
tions ; and  the  humblest  forms  of  animals  those  which  have 
least  in  common  with  the  Mimosa.  Each  kingdom  of  nature, 
as  it  ascends  towards  its  maximum,  instead  of  approximating 
closer  and  closer  to  the  next?  above,  and  eventually  passing 
into  it,  in  reality  becomes  more  and  more  remote  from  it. 
They  may  be  compared  to  three  beautiful  temples ; the  first 
of  Doric  architecture,  the  second  of  Ionic,  the  third  of  Ro- 
man. Each  temple  is  built  on  a plan  of  its  own;  the 
foundations  have  a measure  of  uniformity;  but  while  the 
Doric  pillars  are  simple  shafts,  the  loftier  and  fluted  Ionic 
are  crowned  with  graceful,  curling  volutes,  and  the  Compo- 
site, loftier  still,  with  all  the  ornament  that  tasteful  luxury 
can  engraft.  Each  kingdom  starts  on  a platform  of  its  own, 
as  physiology  will  some  day  demonstrate  beyond  dispute; 
growing  more  distinct  with  every  step,  at  last  it  enjoys  a per 
fection  no  less  peculiarly  its  own.  That  perfection  does  not 
reside  in  the  forms  which  seem  to  be  connecting  links  with 
the  kingdoms  next  above;  the  perfection  and  termination  of 
each  realm,  as  of  each  tribe  and  class,  is  in  the  maximum 
realization  of  its  archetype.  Quadrupeds,  for  example,  do  not 
termim ate  with  the  monkeys;  their  maximum  is  the  lioUy  the 
acknowledged  king  of  beasts  from  time  immemorial.  So  in 
the  vegetable  world.  Endogens  do  not  terminate  with  the 
Smilax,  though  it  anticipates  the  netted  leaves  of  the 
Exogens  overhead ; but  with  the  princes  of  their  archetype, 
the  stately  Palms.  Though  the  several  perfections  are  so 
unlike,  there  is  still  a fine  harmony  between  them.  The 
perfection  of  the  mineral  kingdom  in  the  lucid  and  brilliant 
Crystal,  harmonizes  with  the  perfection  of  the  plant  in  the 
odorous  and  glowing  Blossom,  and  both  harmonize  with  the 
perfection  of  the  animal,  which  resides  in  its  vast  powers  of 


460 


RULE  IN  THE  ESTIMATE  OF  SPECIES. 


body  and  external  sense.  Brutes  are  possessed  of  these  vast 
powers,  because  the  ascent  of  the  brute  creation  towards  its 
maximum  is  away  from  man  rather  than  in  tlie  direction  of 
him,  just  as  the  mineral  series  divaricates  from  the  plant, 
and  the  plant  series  from  the  animal.  For  man,  though  the 
head  and  archetype  of  all  things,  is  no  part  of  a specific 
chain,  but  a series  in  himself,  at  once  a beginning  and  an 
end.  Everywhere  the  maximum  of  the  lower  realm  is  more 
glorious  than  the  minimum  of  the  next  above;  man  is  ex- 
celled by  the  brutes  he  rules  over,  in  swiftness,  in  eyesight, 
in  delicacy  of  touch  and  smell,*  because  these  things,  though 
the  perfection  of  the  brutes,  belong  to  the  mere  basis  of 
humanity; — all  creatures,  however,  in  his  own  maximum, 
he  transcendently  excels,  vindicating  the  supreme  majesty 
of  Intellect.  In  every  maximum,  it  is  further  to  be  ob- 
served, all  the  forces  of  nature  that  have  reference  to  it,  are 
concentrated.  Chemistry  is  at  its  acme  in  the  moulding  of 
the  crystal;  vitality  in  the  fashioning  of  the  flower. 

261.  When,  therefore,  we  would  rightly  contemplate  the 
great  kingdoms  of  nature,  or  any  of  their  subdivisions,  we 
should  begin  by  comparing  summit  with  summit.  The  keys 
of  knowledge  are  the  perfections  of  nature.  Descending  from 
the  capitals  to  the  pedestals,  we  learn  that  the  animal  differs 
as  widely  from  the  vegetable,  as  both  differ  from  the  mine- 
ral, This  should  be  our  rule  even  in  the  comparison  and 
estimate  of  species.  ‘‘Every  species  is  higher  in  some  re- 
spects, and  lower  in  others;  there  are  many  scales  of  per- 
fection in  different  respects,  running,  as  it  were,  parallel  with 
one  another;  so  that  in  defining  the  degree  of  elevation  of 
any  particular  species,  we  must  take  into  account  the  posi- 


* Smell  seems  to  be  most  acute  in  the  predaceous  mammalia; 
eight  in  the  predaceous  birds ; touch  in  the  antennae  of  insects. 


EXCELLENCE  CONSISTS  IN  COMBINATION.  461 


tion  it  occupies  in  the  several  scales  jointly.”  The  criterion 
of  excellence  is  comhmation  of  properties.  Man,  for  exam- 
ple, as  just  observed,  is  inferior  to  the  dog,  as  regards  smell, 
and  to  the  elephant,  as  regards  bulk,  but  in  neither  of  these 
creatures,  nor  in  any  other,  are  so  many  properties  combined 
as  in  himself;  this  at  once  places  him  immeasurably  above 
them  all.  In  regard  to  ^4ower”  or  ‘‘inferior”  forms,  and  in 
general  to  maximum  and  minimum,  as  spoken  of  the  sepa- 
rate departments  of  nature,  it  is  essential  to  remember  care- 
fully that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  defect  in  the  works  of 
God.  “Higher  forms”  are  simply  such  as  are  more  com- 
plex in  their  organization  than  certain  other  forms.  To  the 
simple  organization  of  the  plant,  for  instance,  in  the  Animal 
are  added  nerves,  endowing  it  with  the  sensation  which  the 
plant  has  not.  Instead  of  “lower”  and  “superior,”  it  would 
be  better  therefore  to  say  “simple”  and  “complex,”  only 
that  usage  has  established  the  former  terms.  So  with  the 
epithet  “perfect”  as  applied  to  natural  structures.  Nothing 
is  positively  or  absolutely  ^mperfect.  The  tender  moss  is  as 
perfect  in  its  little  sphere  as  the  lordly  forest-tree.  “Per- 
fect” is  used  by  the  naturalist  simply  in  a technical  sense,  to 
express  “the  degree  in  which  those  peculiarities  are  deve- 
loped which  characterize  a particular  group.  Those  peculi- 
arities of  structure,  for  example,  which  make  an  insect  what 
it  is,  and  not  a worm  or  a crustacean,  are  found  to  be  pre- 
sent in  their  greatest  intensity,  and  in  the  fullest  combina- 
tion, in  the  beetles;  hence  we  say  the  beetles  are  the  most 
perfect  of  their  class.  A beetle  is  not  more  perfect  as  an 
animal  than  any  other,  but  it  is  more  perfect  as  an  insecV^ 
It  is  at  once  the  most  permanent  and  the  most  elaborate  of 
insect  forms. 

262.  Not  only  is  there  no  succession  of  one  kingdom  of 
nature  above  another  by  the  maximum  of  the  lower  gradu- 
ally sliding  into  the  minimum  of  the  superior;  the  law  of 
.39 


462  DISTINCTIONS  BETWEEN  PLANTS  AND  ANIMALS. 

discrete  degrees  precludes  intermixture  at  any  other  point, 
even  at  the  foundations.  The  common  opinion  regarding 
the  animal  and  vegetable  worlds  is,  that  at  their  commence- 
ment they  are  united.  It  is  true  that  between  the  first  ani- 
malcules and  the  first  vegetalcules  there  is  a seeming  iden- 
tity, and  that  the  embryo  human  organ  !.nn  itself  does  not 
perceptibly  differ  from  the  earliest  forms  of  plants;  true, 
moreover,  that  the  two  classes  of  beings  retain  a kind  of 
parallelism  for  a considerable  distance.  Both  begin  with 
the  simple  vesicle,  the  globe  in  miniature,  the  cylinder,  and 
the  disc,  seeming  to  measure  with  their  fine  geometry  the 
space  which  they  are  by  and  bye  to  fill  so  admirably;  expe- 
rimenting more  boldly  as  they  proceed,  the  bells  and  vases 
of  the  polyps  and  the  coral-creatures  pair  with  the  cups  of 
the  lichen  and  the  thecae  of  the  mosses,  even  to  their  peris- 
tomes; the  divergence,  however,  rapidly  becomes  so  wide, 
and  the  culminating  extremes  are  so  far  asunder,  as  to  prove 
them  wholly  distinct  ideas  of  Almighty  wisdom.  “To  sup- 
pose,” well  observes  Dr.  Harris,  “that  because  it  is  difficult 
to  assign  the  boundaries  of  the  two  kingdoms,  therefore 
there  are  no  boundaries,  would  be  as  irrational  as  to  con- 
clude that,  because  material  atoms  disappear,  first  from  our 
unaided  sight,  and  then  even  beyond  the  reach  of  microscopic 
power,  there  is  a point  at  which  they  graduate  into  nothing- 
ness. A moment’s  reflection  will  show  us  that  between  that 
supposed  point  and  the  point  beyond,  there  is  all  the  differ- 
ence between  body  and  space,  something  and  nothing,  an 
infinite  difference.  In  the  same  manner,  however  slight  the 
hrealc,  where  the  vegetable  appears  to  graduate  into  the 
animal,  such  an  interruption  there  is;  and  it  is  nothing  less 
than  an  interruption  in  kind,  a transition  from  identity  to 
essential  difference.”*  The  dispute,  not  yet  settled,  as  to 


IVc- Adamite  Ikirtli,  pp.  245,  246. 


CONSTANCY  OF  SPECIES. 


463 


whether  those  beautiful  little  specks  of  life,  the  Desmidiese, 
are  animals  or  vegetables,  merely  shows  that  we  are  still  in 
ignorance  of  their  essential  nature.  It  is  but  a little  while 
since  opinions  were  similarly  divided  as  to  the  sponges, 
Corallines,  Sertularias,  and  even  the  fungi.  Natural  his- 
tory, like  theology  and  every  other  great  system  of  truth, 
always  has  its  mysteries,  though  they  are  not  always  the 
same  mysteries,  either  absolutely  or  relatively. 

263.  The  three  great  primary  platforms  of  nature, 
minerals,  plants,  and  animals,  though  they  are  the  chief 
seat  and  illustration  of  discrete  distinctiveness,  by  no  means 
exhaust  it.  Each  of  these  three  principal  platforms  com- 
prises many  minor  ones,  and  each  of  these  latter  a multi- 
tude of  still  finer.  The  first  are  occupied  by  the  various 
tribes,  classes,  and  families  of  beings,  the  last  by  genera  and 
species,  organs  and  organic  tissues.  Doubtless,  the  more 
minute  our  analysis,  the  more  difficult  becomes  the  deter- 
mination of  the  relative  rank  of  the  objects  compared ; as 
when  we  compare,  for  example,  the  various  genera  of  a 
natural  order,’’  or  the  various  species  of  a genus.  Ordi- 
narily they  are  so  alike  in  apparent  excellence,  that,  as  said 
above  of  the  species  of  Erica,  fancy  and  taste  alone  can 
graduate  their  merits ; that  there  is  a discrete  difference,  we 
may  nevertheless  be  assured,  since  Nature  in  the  principles 
of  its  least  things,  is  invariably  the  same  as  in  those  of  its 
greatest.  The  difficulty  in  nature  is  to  see  the  law  where  it 
hides  itself  from  us,  and  not  to  be  led  astray  by  appear- 
ances. Many  things  in  nature  which  are  contradicted  by 
our  senses,  are  nevertheless,  true,  and  chief  among  them  are 
these  seeming  equalities  of  things.  To  their  discrete  sepa- 
rateness is  referable  the  constancy  of  species.  Primarily 
dependent,  as  well  said  by  Agassiz  and  Gould,  “ upon  im- 


464  DIFFERENCES  COMMENCE  IN  THE  BLOOD. 

material  nature/’*  that  is  to  say,  upon  pre-existent  forms  in 
the  Spiritual  world,  the  fixedness  of  s})ecies  rests  proximately 
in  the  distinctiveness  of  their  platforms,  from  which  they 
are  incapable  of  moving,  either  upwards  or  downwards ; 
and  which  prevents  them,  at  the  same  moment,  from  inter- 
marrying, and  thus  defacing  and  disordering  the  world  with 
hybrids.  Tlie  great  mass  of  the  organic  forms  commonly 
deemed  hybrids  are  in  reality  mere  varieties;  i.  e.,  sports  of 
a given  single  species,  ratlier  than  intermixtures  of  two 
different  ones.  Purely  and  entirely  by  reason  of  this  abso- 
lute separateness,  does  it  become  possible  to  classify  material 
objects  into  scientific  systems,  and  to  impersonate  them  with 
names.  The  boundaries  being  unalterably  fixed,  we  are 
enabled,  first  to  discriminate,  and  subsequently  to  recognize 
them.  Were  there  no  discrete  degrees,  the  world  instead  of 
/t  would  be  St.  Paul  tells  us  of  the  discrete 

degrees  of  the  animal  world,  when  he  says:  ‘‘All  flesh  is 
not  the  same  flesh ; there  is  one  flesh  of  men,  another  flesh 
of  beasts,  another  of  fishes,  and  another  of  birds.”  Flesh 
is  only  consolidated  blood.  Not  only  hath  God  “ made  of 
one  blood  all  nations  of  men all  things  discretely  sepa- 
rated, are  of  their  own  peculiar  blood ; the  differences  in 
the  vital  fluid,  (which,  homogeneous  and  uniform  as  it  is  to 
the  eye,  is  one  of  the  most  varied  substances  in  nature,)  are 
tlie  inmost  seats  of  all  distinctions.  Here,  in  the  blood, 
begins  the  difference  of  creatures  one  from  another;  the 
Teeth,  which  arc  the  last  and  completing  effort  of  the  vital 
energy,  as  the  blood  is  the  first,  completing  also  the  distinc- 
tions, and  standing  as  the  Omega  to  the  Alpha  of  the 
crimson  stream  which  originated  their  own  material.  The 
structure  and  form  of  the  teeth  constitute  so  important  a 


* Outlines  of  Coinpjirative  PJiysiology,  p.  86. 


FUNCTIONS  AND  TISSUES. 


465 


particular  in  the  discrimination  of  species,  that  if  any  tribe 
of  human  beings  were  found  to  differ  materially  in  their 
dentition  from  the  rest  of  mankind',  it  would  justify  a strong 
suspicion  of  a real  specific  difference — as  strong  a one  as 
would  arise  from  a difference  in  the  form  of  the  blood-discs. 
Discrete  difference  prevails  as  profoundly  in  the  saps  of 
plants ; and  closely  as  they  resemble  in  some  points,  between 
the  vegetable  and  the  animal  tissues.  Vegetable  cells  are 
discretely  below  animal  cells no  vegetable  tissue  could 
associate  with  animal  tissue ; “it  would  be  the  sport  of  ac- 
tivities which  it  could  neither  share  nor  reciprocate.”  So 
with  the  vital  functions.  What  are  called  the  “vegetative 
functions”  of  animals  are  not  Yegetable.  An  animal  is  not, 
as  to  its  physiology,  plant  plus  animal,  but  wholly  and 
absolutely  sui  generis.  There  are  feeding,  respiration,  re- 
production, &c.,  in  both,  but  they  are  never  the  same  feed- 
ing, nor  the  same  respiration.  Every  function,  on  the 
higher  platform,  is  as  totally  different  from  those  of  the 
lower  ones,  as  are  the  forms  and  organizations.  Plants,  for 
example,  take  carbon  from  the  atmosphere,  while  animals 
take  oxygen.  Were  the  various  properties  which  are  dis- 
tributed among  the  members  of  the  vegetable  kingdom  to 
be  concentrated  in  a single  individual,  that  individual  would 
still  be  inferior  to  the  ignoblest  brute.  The  discrete  degree 
pronounces  once  for  all.  Thus  far  and  no  farther.  A long 
procession  of  discrete  degrees,  it  may  be  added,  often  has 
the  look  of  continuity,  as  in  the  case  of  the  successive  steps 
between  the  hoof  of  the  quadruped  and  the  human  hand. 
They  are  shown  to  be  discrete  degrees  which  intervene,  by 
not  a single  hoof  having  ever  become  anything  more  than 
a hoof,  during  the  twenty  centuries  that  naturalists  have 
studied  animal  history;  the  hand  of  man  similarly  remain- 
ing the  same  from  age  to  age. 

264.  Along  with  discrete  degrees  it  is  important  to  com 

w 


466 


LAW  OF  PROMOTION. 


sider  tlie  great  companion  law  of  promotion.  Nature,  in  her 
ascent,  leaves  nothing  behind;  she  subordinates,  but  never 
disuses ; the  past  is  always  brought  forward  into  the  pre- 
sent; every  degree  of  ascent  is  marked  by  new  powers  and 
new  forms  of  apparatus,  but  with  these  are  always  essen- 
tially recapitulated  all  things  that  have  previously  been 
employed.  The  properties,  moreover,  which  exist  in  the 
lower  or  anterior  stages,  are  not  only  carried  on  to  the 
superior,  but  are  there  applied  to  new  and  higher  purposes. 
The  physical  laws  which  in  the  mineral  world  induce  cohe- 
sion and  affinity,  and  achieve  their  highest  in  the  production 
of  crystal  flowers,  these  do  not  cease  with  the  crystal; 
brought  forward  into  the  vegetable,  they  are  as  active  as 
they  were  in  the  mineral,  only  that  now  they  are  no  longer 
the  rulers,  but  subordinated  to  the  higher  authority  of  the 
vital  forces.  These  in  turn  move  forward  into  the  animal, 
where  to  chemistry  and  vitality  are  superadded  senses  and 
locomotion ; all  finally  move  forwards  into  man,  where  they 
lie  under  the  new  and  crowning  magistracy  of  reason.  Man, 
as  said  above,  is  not  like  lower  natures,  contained  on  a given 
platform,  but  a platform  in  himself,  discretely  separated 
from  all  below  by  his  vertical  attitude  and  consummate 
nervous  system,*  as  a material  organism;  by  his  intellect 
and  affections  as  a vessel  of  life.  He  is  all  that  has  gone 
before,  and  Man  besides.  He  feeds  and  sleeps  with  the 
vegetable;  builds  and  procreates  with  the  animal;  talks, 
dresses,  worships,  hopes,  laughs,  and  imagines,  in  virtue  of 


* The  most  striking  illustration  of  this  occurs  perhaps  in  relation 
to  the  human  voice.  It  is  not  so  much  in  the  mere  organs  of  the 
voice,  as  they  arc  commonly  called,  the  larynx,  &c.,  that  man  differs 
from  the  inferior  animals,  and  by  which  he  is  enabled  to  speak;  it 
is  in  tlic  nerves  rather,  by  which  all  the  parts  are  combined  into  one 
simultaneous  act.  This  is  peculiar  to  him. 


VEGETABLE-CRYSTALS. 


467 


his  own  original  and  unique  humanity.  In  man  all  the 
operations  of  nature  are  concentrated  and  perfected.  He  is 
the  continent  of  the  world  rather  than  contained  in  it;  the 
aggregate  of  all  properties,  phenomena,  and  uses;  thus  the 
summary  and  mirror  of  the  whole  of  God’s  creation.  He 
never  ceases  to  be  the  lower  natures,  and  cannot,  for  they 
are  the  basis  and  factors  of  his  perfection.  There  are  times 
when  he  is,  practically,  nothing  else,  and  it  is  good  that  it 
should  be  so.  The  master-piece  of  creation,”  says  Lichten- 
berg,  ‘‘must  for  a while,  on  his  pillow,  become  a plant,  in 
order  that  he  may  he  this  same  master-piece.” 

265.  The  promotion  of  physiognomies  is  one  of  the  most 
curious  things  in  nature.  As  the  crystal  is  a mineral  flower, 
so  is  the  flower  a vegetable  crystal.  The  geometry  of  the 
former  reappears  in  flowers  as  their  numerical  proportion; 
the  angles  and  faces  of  the  one,  become  the  outlines  and 
symmetry  of  the  other.  Flowers,  however,  have  a greater 
variety  of  forms  than  crystals,  and  some  of  them  are  un- 
known to  the  mineral  world,  as  the  pentagonal.  The  tri- 
gonal and  tetragonal  are  plentiful  in  both.  The  cube  is 
recapitulated  in  that  pretty  little  blossom  of  early  Spring, 
the  Adoxa  moschatellina ; on  the  cone  of  the  fir  before  it 
opens  we  have  the  most  beautiful  rhomboidal  figures;  and 
in  the  delicate  little  organisms  called  Desmidiese,  triangles, 
cylinders,  and  ellipses. 

266.  The  renewal,  in  the  animal  kingdom,  of  the  features 
of  plants  and  flowers,  is  divided  between  the  arborescent 
polypifera,  and  those  lovely  marine  productions,  the  Actiniae, 
popularly  known  as  the  sea-anemone,  the  sea-daisy,  &c. 
The  resemblance  of  these  curious  organisms  to  the  rich, 
double,  and  many-colored  varieties  of  the  Anemone  hor- 
tensis,  and  the  Chrysanthemum,  is  most  extraordinary.  The 
Actinia  equina,  says  Lamouroux,  may  be  seen,  when  the 
tide  retires,  “ornamenting  the  sea-rocks  with  its  beautiful 


468 


ANIMAL-FLOV/ERS. 


colors,  purple,  violet,  blue,*  pink,  yellow,  and  green,  like  so 
many  flowers  in  a meadow.’’  The  Aetinia  Diantlius,  or 
sea-carnation,  tlie  Actinia  Calendula,  or  sea-marigold,  and 
the  Actinia  crassicornis,  perhaps  the  finest  example  of  the 
whole  tribe,  are  miracles  of  beauty.  Besides  these,  there  is 
the  exquisite  genus  Lucernaria,  one  species  of  which,  the 
Lucernaria  Auricula,  transcends  even  the  Actinias  in  its 
lovely  renewal  of  the  flower.  No  one  who  has  collected 
Sertularias  can  have  failed  to  observe  their  beautiful  resem- 
blance to  slenderly-branching  trees  of  the  cypress  kind. 

The  polypidom,”  remarks  Mr.  Gosse,  “ of  that  very  elegant 
species,  the  Sertularia  cupressina,  fine  specimens  of  which 
are  eight  to  twelve  inches  high,  forms  a taper-pointed  spire, 
the  numerous  component  branches  of  which  are  fan-shaped, 
and  arch  gracefully  downwards,  so  that  the  resemblance  to 
a tree  of  the  pine  tribe  is  neither  fanciful  nor  remote.”  In 
no  department  of  nature  do  we  see  more  strikingly  illus- 
trated the  indifference  to  large  and  little  in  the  workmanship 
of  the  Almighty;  in  a cluster  of  these  delicate  little  polyp- 
trees,  with  their  inhabitants,  without  the  slightest  voluntary 
effort  of  the  imagination,  we  live  over  again  among  the 
noblest  elements  of  the  forest.  But  the  great  zoophytes  of 
the  tropical  seas  eclipse  all.  Ehrenberg  was  so  struck  with 
the  magnificent  spectacle  of  the  fioriform  polyparia  of  the 
Bed  Sea,  that  he  exclaimed,  Where  is  the  paradise  of 
flowers  that  can  rival  in  variety  and  beauty  these  living 
wonders  of  the  ocean!”  Many  species,  Mr.  Dana  tells  us, 
‘‘spread  out  in  broad  leaves,  and  resemble  some  large  plant 
just  unfolding;  others  are  gracefully  branched,  and  the 


* When  Lamoiironx  speaks  of  blue  sea-anemones,  he  refers  merely 
to  the  varie^^ation  of  certain  species.  An  Actinia  wholly  blue  seems 
as  unlikely  a wonder  as  a blue  dahlia  or  blue  rose. 


SCIENCE  OF  NATURE  AND  OF  MAN.  469 

whole  surface  blooms  with  stars  of  crimson,  purple,  and 
emerald  green.''  At  Macao,  says  another,  ‘‘dendritic  zoo- 
phytes, having  their  branches  loaded  with  colored  polyps, 
like  trees  covered  with  delicate  blossoms,  richly  uprose  from 
the  clear  bottom  of  the  bay."  (Adams,  “Voyage  of  the 
Samarang.")  The  star-fishes  recapitulate  the  various  kinds 
of  radiate  flowers,  and  other  stelliform  products  of  plants; 
the  bilateral  animals,  or  those  in  which  the  external  mem- 
bers are  in  pairs,  remind  us  of  the  configuration  of  the 
Labiatse.  How  beautifully  even  the  simplest  forms  and 
phenomena  of  lower  platforms  are  brought  forward  to  the 
higher,  is  shown  in  the  ice-plant,  which  recapitulates  the 
hoar  frost,  and  in  the  Drosera,  gemmed  with  unforgotten 
dew. 

267.  Understanding  the  law  of  promotion,  we  first  begin 
to  read  truly,  the  great  lessons  inscribed  on  lower  natures. 
Were  there  no  animals  man  wwld  be  a thousand  times 
more  incomprehensible  than  he  is ; animals,  in  turn,  are  si- 
milarly illustrated  in  the  plant-world;  in  either  case  because 
the  lower  nature  shows  in  detail  and  prominently,  what  in 
the  higher  nature  is  obscured  by  subordination.  Seeing  that 
all  things  are  mute  predictions  and  prefigurements  of  Man, 
it  follows  again,  conversely,  that  in  the  laws  and  phenomena 
of  our  owry  being,  we  have  the  keys  to  all  phenomena  beneath. 
All  lower  things  derive  their  intelligibleness  from  higher 
ones ; we  learn  the  nature  of  the  world  only  by  viewing  it  in 
the  sunshine.  The  true  science  of  nature  we  shall  never  be- 
come possessed  of  till  it  is  studied,  in  every  part,  by  the 
light  of  humanity ; — till  the  naturalist  looks  more  narrowly 
to  the  congruity  which  subsists  between  the  world  and  him- 
self— “ the  world  of  which  he  is  lord,  not  because  he  is  the 
most  subtle  inhabitant,  but  because  he  is  its  head  and 
heart." 


40 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


THE  ITNITY  OE  NATURE, 

268.  Now  that  we  have  seen  how  the  various  parts  of 
nature  stand  related,  viz.,  according  to  Discrete  degrees  and 
Continuous  degrees ; also  what  is  the  meaning  and  the 
teaching  of  Prefiguration ; the  way  is  opened  to  a clearer 
and  more  comprehensive  survey  of  the  Analogies  of  nature, 
the  phenomena  which  in  their  total,  declare  its  Unity. 
As  to  the  broad,  general  fact  of  this  unity,  there  is  nothing 
new  to  be  said.  Since  the  world  is  the  work  of  God,  and 
He  is  One,  its  constituent  parts  must  needs  correspond,  not 
only  with  Him  as  their  Designer  and  Creator,  but  likewise, 
in  some  way,  with  one  another.  In  other  words,  the  world 
as  a whole  cannot  display  its  Maker  without  its  several 
parts  doing  the  same,  and  to  this  end  they  must  necessarily 
be  alike.  Such,  accordingly,  is  the  fact.  Everything  in 
nature  contains  all  the  powers  of  nature.  Each  new  form 
repeats  not  only  the  main  character  of  the  type,  but  part 
for  part,  all  the  details,  aims,  furtherances,  hindrances,  en- 
ergies, and  whole  system  of  every  other.  There  is  some- 
thing that  resembles  the  ebb  and  flow  of  the  sea,  day  and 
night,  man  and  woman,  in  a single  needle  of  the  pine,  in  a 
kernel  of  corn.  Every  occupation,  trade,  art,  transaction,  is 
a comj)end  of  the  world,  and  a correlative  of  every  other. 
Each  one  is  an  entire  emblem  of  human  life,  of  its  good 
and  ill,  its  trials,  its  enemies,  its  course,  and  its  end.’’  AVe 
speak  of  the  ‘‘jfliysical  geography”  of  the  world.  That 
470 


ONLY  ONE  PHYSICAL  SCIENCE. 


471 


which  we  find  in  the  whole,  we  find  over  again  in  every 
scene  and  portion.  The  sea,  for  example,  has  its  mountains 
and  valleys,  in  the  waves ; its  rivers,  in  the  currents ; its  fo- 
rests and  “ ocean-gardens,’’  in  the  densely-planted  and  luxu- 
riant algse  which  adorn  it  as  with  trees  and  flowers.  De- 
scending to  the  special  provinces  of  nature,  we  find  animals 
intimately  analogous  with  plants,  plants  possessing  analogies 
with  minerals — each  particular  form,  whether  organic  or  in- 
organtic,  being  a miniature  representative  of  the  class  to 
which  it  belongs,  and  all  its  factors  representatives  again  of 
itself;  the  members  show  more  or  less,  the  essential  proper- 
ties of  the  total,  the  total  is  a vast  expansion  of  the  atom. 
Because  of  this  unity,  it  follows  that,  absolutely,  thei’e  is 
only  one  Science,  at  least  only  one  physical  science,  just  as 
in  the  doctrine  of  a celebrated  school  of  ancient  philosophy, 
there  was  only  one  Virtue.  That  one  science  has  various 
departments,  whereby  the  incommensurableness  of  nature  is 
brought  down  to  our  capacity ; still  it  is  only  one  science  es- 
sentially, as  we  prove  every  day.  Occupy  ourselves  with 
whatever  province  of  it  we  may,  we  soon  become  sensible  of 
its  interconnection  with  others,  and  are  frequently  at  a loss 
to  determine  the  actual  area  that  it  covers.  The  unity  of 
science,”  says  one  of  the  profoundest  thinkers  of  our  day, 
‘‘  is  the  reflection  of  the  unity  of  nature,  and  of  the  unity  of 
the  Supreme  Reason  and  Intelligence  which  pervades  and 
rules  over  nature,  and  from  which  all  reason  and  all  science 
are  derived.”  It  follows  again  that  in  all  our  investigations 
of  natural  phenomena,  if  we  would  justly  comprehend  them, 
we  should  more  and  more  vigilantly  look  for  likenesses. 
The  beginning  of  philosophy  is  the  study  of  differences,  but 
we  climb  to  that  beautiful  Olympus  where  simple  and  es- 
iSential  Truths  reside,  the  heaven  of  all  the  other  spheres  of 
knowledge,  by  comparing,  and  deducing  resemhlaiices ; just 


472 


COMPARATIVE  ANATOMY. 


as  we  rise  in  moral  and  religious  life  by  seeking  and  valuing 
Christianity  above  sectarianism. 

269.  In  organic  nature,  to  which  alone  is  it  expedient  to 
give  attention  at  present,  Three  kinds  of  analogy  are  ob- 
servable. First,  analogies  of  organization,  which  are  the 
profoundest;  second,  analogies  of  external  configuration, 
with  or  without  similarity  of  internal  structure;  third, 
analogies  of  qualities,  habits,  instincts,  &c.  Frequently  one 
kind  of  analogy  presupposes  and  brings  another,  but  it  is  by 
no  means  necessary  to  the  existence  of  analogy  that  all  three 
kinds,  or  even  two  of  them,  should  be  associated.  The 
analogy  between  the  different  species  and  tribes  of  organized 
beings  as  to  their  internal  structure^  is  the  subject-matter  of 
one  of  the  grandest  of  natural  sciences.  If  one  thing  more 
than  another  attests  the  unity  of  creation,  it  is  Comparative 
Anatomy.  Different  as  are  the  outward  seemings  of  bird 
and  quadruped,  fish  and  reptile,  and  more  different  even  yet 
those  of  the  boneless  creatures,  leaving  plants,  for  the  time, 
altogether  out  of  the  question,  nothing  is  plainer  to  the 
tutored  eye  than  that  all  these  varied  beings  are  utterances 
of  a single  Divine  idea.  The  likeness  in  the  higher  classes, 
the  Vertebrata,  is  unanimously  acknowledged  in  their  name. 
The  lower  classes,  negatively  distinguished  as  the  inYerte- 
brata,  differ  unquestionably,  in  respect  of  that  hard  frame- 
work we  call  the  skeleton,  which  in  these  no  longer  appears 
as  a set  of  internal  bones,  but  is  replaced  by  a solid  outer 
covering,  well  shown  in  the  lobster  and  the  crab.  In  regard 
to  the  viscera  and  the  organs  of  sense,  the  analogy,  how- 
ever, is  obvious  enough;  and  since  so  many  affinities  have 
been  already  demonstrated  between  these  in  vertebrata  and 
the  higher  classes,  all  pointing  moreover  to  a common 
archetype;  the  circumstance  of  their  unlikeness  in  the  matter 
of  skeleton,  and  thence  of  configuration  (as  in  the  case  of 
tlie  star-fishes  compared  with  birds,)  stands  only  as  a mys- 


HOMOLOaY. 


473 


tery  to  be  cleared  up.*  The  advances  which  science  has 
already  made  towards  the  solution,  are  sure  in  their  promise; 
as  the  stars  and  the  compass  tell  the  mariner  his  prow  is 
homeward,  though  the  land  be  yet  invisible. 

270.  Homology  is  the  name  of  the  science  which  seeks  to 
determine  these  deep  affinities.  The  more  usual  application 
of  the  word  is  to  the  science  of  skeletons  and  their  parts; 
but  properly,  it  applies  to  all  parts  whatever  of  the  animal 
structure,  whether  hard  or  soft.  The  idea  intended  to  be 
conveyed  by  it  is,  that  specific  organs  of  animals,  to  appear- 
ance quite  distinct,  do  nevertheless  directly  answer  to  one 
another,  and  are  derivations  from  a common  archetype  or 
model.  The  arm  of  the  human  body  is  ‘4iomologous’’  with 
the  fore-leg  of  the  brute,  with  the  wing  of  the  bird,  and  with 
the  pectoral  fin  of  the  fish.  Essentially  it  is  the  same  part 
which  we  see  in  each,  but  being  intended  to  serve  a different 
purpose  in  each  different  animal,  is  modified  accordingly. 
The  homologies  just  alluded  to  are  called  by  Owen  ^‘special.” 
He  gives  this  name  to  all  such  affinities  of  different  parts  or 
organs,  in  different  animals,  as  demonstrably  answer  one  to 
another.  The  least  acquainted  with  animal  structure  may 
understand  them,  by  comparing  the  hoof,  the  paw,  the  talon, 
and  the  human  foot.  ^Heneral  homologies’’  form  another 
and  yet  profounder  class.  These  are  the  relations  which  the 
total  of  the  structures  of  animals,  in  all  their  variety,  bear 
to  that  grand,  universal  type  of  which  Man  is  the  proudest 
fulfillment, — the  type  termed  the  Vertebral,  but  though  in 
the  vertebrated  animals  most  consummately  set  forth,  cer- 


* The  bilateral  symmetry  of  those  curious  shells  cast  upon  our 
sandy  shores,  commonly  known  as  mermaids’  heads,”  (zoologically 
Spatangus,)  beautifully  points  from  afar  to  the  vertebral  idea.  See 
for  an  account  of  it,  Annals  of  Natural  History,”  vol.  1,  p.  30. 

40  ^ 


474 


OWEN’S  SERIAL  HOMOLOGIES.” 


tainly  not  confined  to  them.  Every  one  may  see  the  general 
quality  of  this  type,  by  comparing  the  skeletons  of  quad- 
rupeds, the  bird,  and  the  fish.  No  animal  has  all  the  parts 
of  the  common  archetype  expressed  in  their  maximum. 
Some  have  one  part  more  highly  developed,  some  have 
another;  always,  however,  in  a fixed  degree,  neither  more 
nor  less,  whereby  the  specific  identity  of  each  is  preserved 
pure.  The  wing,  though  an  organ  of  the  same  archetype  as 
the  arm,  never  changes  to  an  arm ; nor  does  the  fin  of  the 
fish  ever  assume  the  character  of  a wing.  Thirdly,  Owen 
discriminates  serial  homologies.”  These  are  the  relations 
which  the  several  parts  of  an  animal  bear  among  themselves. 
Comparing,  for  example,  the  bones  of  the  leg  with  those  of 
the  arm,  we  pursue  ‘‘serial”  homologies;  and  again,  when 
we  compare  the  bones  of  the  spinal  column  with  those  of  the 
skull,  which  latter  the  acute  Oken  has  demonstrated  beyond 
dispute,  to  be  itself  a chain  of  vertebrae,  the  various  ele- 
ments of  the  several  bones  being  so  modified,  expanded,  or 
contracted,  as  to  convert  them  into  a fitting  cavity  for  the 
brain.  Homology  is  thus  to  analogy  in  general,  what  gram- 
mar and  etymology  are  to  the  science  of  language, — a finer, 
more  recondite,  and  more  exact  determination  of  its  funda- 
mental truths.  Obviously,  without  a careful  and  extended 
study  of  all  three  of  its  departments,  our  apprehension  of 
the  Unity  of  Nature  can  be  no  more  than  superficial  and 
Tague.  Happily,  this  grand  science  is  now  kindling  a lite- 
rature of  its  own,  the  light  of  which  points  and  illuminates 
our  way.* 


* See,  for  instance,  Owen’s  Works  “On  the  Homologies  of  the 
Vertebrate  Skeleton,”  and  on  the  “Nature  of  Limbs;”  and  the 
masterly  article  on  the  Skeleton  in  Todd’s  Cyclopaedia  of  Anatomy 
and  IMiysiology,  by  Maclise.  For  a talented  resume  of  the  subject, 
see  the  London  (Quarterly  Review,  No.  viii.,  July,  1855. 


COMPARATIVE  ANATOMY  OF  PLANTS. 


475 


271.  Botany  has  its  Comparative  Anatomy  as  well  as 
Zoology,  all  sound  and  scientific  classification  resting  upon 
the  resemblaiices  of  the  different  organs  as  to  their  essential 
nature,  however  widely  diversified  in  seeming.  Viewed 
homologically,  the  parts  of  which  plants  are  composed  are, 
like  those  of  animals,  exceedingly  few.  The  flower,  with  its 
various  members,  is  only  a fasciculus  of  leaves,  similar  to 
those  of  the  stem,  only  more  delicately  fashioned,  and  beau- 
tifully colored ; the  fruit  is  no  more  than  another  such  fas- 
ciculus, curiously  folded  together,  and  distended  or  covered 
in  with  juice  or  pulp.  The  proofs  of  this  are  furnished, 
partly  by  the  phenomena  of  double  flowers,  partly  by  the 
comparison  of  a large  number  of  difierent  species.  In  the 
double  white  water-lily,  the  double  tulip,  and  often  in  the 
double  camellia,  every  shade  of  transition  may  be  traced 
between  petal  and  stamen;  in  the  double  cherry-blossom, 
instead  of  a pistil,  there  grow  two  little  leaves,  exact  minia- 
tures of  the  ordinary  foliage;  sometimes,  even  in  single 
blossoms  of  the  Anemone  nemorosa,  leaves  similarly  stand 
in  place  of  ovaries.  The  identity  of  the  petals  and  the 
calyx,  and  of  the  calyx  and  the  stem-leaves,  is  shown  by  the 
polyanthus,  in  its  difierent  varieties;  the  latter  also  by  the 
gentianella,  and  a variety  not  infrequently  met  with,  of  the 
common  white  clover.  It  is  not  that  any  given  flower  or 
fruit  ever  actually  consisted  of  green  leaves,  and  was  formed 
from  them  by  direct  transmutation,  but  that  the  essential 
elements  both  of  flower  and  fruit  are  varied  and  elaborate 
developments  of  a single  organic  form,  which  in  a lower 
state  of  development  would  have  been  a simple  twig  of 
leaves.  Every  leaf  in  its  embryo  state  is  potentially  a petal, 
potentially  a stamen,  potentially  the  carpel  of  a fruity  and 
it  expands  into  one  part  or  another  according  to  the  impress 
given  it  at  birth,  by  the  directive  vital  power.  The  term 
‘‘metamorphosis,’^  as  applied  to  floral  development,  becomes, 


476 


GENERAL  MODEL  OF  PLANTS. 


therefore,  incorrect.  An  organ  once  framed  and  determined 
is  never  converted  into  a diderent  organ;  there  is  sim})ly  a 
capacity  on  the  part  of  the  original  germ  to  develope  into 
one  or  another  of  many  different  shapes.  The  homologies 
disclosed  by  the  different  species  of  plants  are  most  strikingly 
illustrated  in  the  origin  and  structure  of  Fruits.  In  the 
apple,  for  example,  we  have  five  carpellary  leaves,  united 
and  enclosed  in  pulp;  in  the  fraxinella  and  the  star-anise  a 
similar  combination,  but  without  the  surrounding  pulp;  in 
the  pieony,  three  or  four  such  leaves,  at  once  destitute  of 
pulp,  and  instead  of  being  united,  perfectly  independent  and 
distinct,  and  apt,  when  withered  and  dried,  and  the  seeds 
have  fallen  out,  to  expand  into  a close  likeness  of  the  green 
leaf.  The  flowers  of  the  different  genera  of  Ranunculacese 
are  scarcely  less  instructive.  Only  by  the  laws  of  homology 
do  we  rightly  understand  Anemone,  Clematis,  Caltha,  Trol- 
lius,  Helleborus,  &c.,  and  learn  that  what  seem  to  be  petals, 
are  in  reality  exalted  calyx-leaves.  Botany  and  Zoology 
will  some  day  be  found  of  singular  mutual  service  in  regard 
to  their  comparative  anatomy.  The  homologies  of  the  Ver- 
tebrata  will  be  illustrated  by  those  of  the  higher  orders  of 
plants,  those  of  the  invertebrata  by  the  less  perfect  kinds. 
Nothing  is  plainer  even  now  than  that  the  general  model  of 
plants  is  upon  the  vertebral  archetype.  We  find  it  in  what 
is  essentially  the  Plant,  namely,  the  Leaf.  It  is  in  the  leaf 
that  the  vegetable  energies  are  chiefly  exercised;  it  is  from 
the  leaf  that  all  the  floral  organs  are  developed,  and  to  the 
leaf  that  all  parts  are  reducible  by  homology;  the  Leaf 
therefore  may  be  regarded,  as  above  said,  the  essential  and 
prototypical  Plant.*  Taking,  then,  the  essential  plant,  the 


* Tliat  a leaf  is  a perfect  plant  we  by  no  means  intend  to  say.  A 
perfect  pljint  is  a liiglily  complex  organism,  a structure  built  up  of 


PLANTS  FORMED  ON  THE  VERTEBRAL  ARCHETYPE.  477 

simple  green  leaf,  its  normal  and  highest  form  is  found  to 
consist  in  a strong,  central  axis  or  midrib,  giving  rise  to 
numerous  lateral  ribs,  which  diverge  from  it  at  certain 
angles,  and  establish  the  general  figure.  The  interstices  are 
filled  with  pulp,  and  the  whole  organism  is  enclosed  in  a 
skin.  The  essential  parts  of  the  flower,  and  of  the  fruit,  the 
maximum  stages  of  vegetable  development,  consist  of  this 
identical  green  leaf,  folded  vertically  upon  its  axis,  as  on  a 
hinge,  so  that  the  edges  come  in  contact,  each  being  a minia- 
ture of  the  cavity  formed  by  the  spine,  the  ribs,  and  the 
breast-bone.  In  the  cavities  thus  formed,  the  highest  ener- 
gies of  vegetable  life  are  concentrated,  and  the  ends  of  that 
life  accomplished.  The  stamens  supply  pollen ; the  pistils, 
or  organs  of  female  function,  contain  seeds.  Looked  at, 
accordingly,  from  the  plant,  the  body  of  a vertebrated  crea- 
ture, or  at  least  of  any  of  the  mammalian  tribes,  is  seen  to 
be  an  infinitely  perfected  Leaf;  looked  at  from  Man,  the 
carpel  of  the  fruit  (the  pod  of  the  pea,  for  instance),  folded 
with  such  fine  symmetry  on  its  little  spine,  is  the  miniature 
idea  of  the  human  frame,  which  is  also  folded,  as  it  were,  on 
the  spinal  column.  Everything  in  nature  shows  more  or 
less  of  the  spinal  column,  a right  and  a left,  standing  side 
by  side,  and  vertically  united,  since  everything  flows  from 
the  Good  and  the  True,  as  conjoined  in  the  Divine,  and 
receives  their  dual  and  undivided  impress. 

272.  Guided  by  the  light  of  these  great  principles,  we  see, 
then,  that  the  kingdoms  of  organized  nature  are  but  mani- 
fold repetitions  and  modifications  of  one  grand  ruling  arche- 


many  distinct  pieces,  each  with  an  allotted  office  of  its  own.  It  is  in 
^no  case  merely  a leaf,  nor  even  a twig,  per  se,  because  to  the  full  and 
complete  idea  of  a plant  is  needed  not  only  distinct  nutritive  and 
sexual  apparatus,  but  a descending  axis  or  root,  as  well  as  an  ascend- 
ing axis  or  stem. 


478 


UNITY  OF  THE  VEGETABLE  KINGDOM. 


type  of  structure,  divaricating  on  the  one  liand,  into  the 
idea  realized  in  the  perfect  Animal,  on  the  other,  into  that 
of  the  perfect  Plant,  the  several  members  of  each  kingdom 
being  allied,  remotely  to  those  of  the  sister  kingdom,  inti- 
mately and  definitely  to  one  another.  Begin,  as  in  former 
surveys,  with  the  Vegetable  Kingdom.  In  its  aggregate, 
tliis  is  in  reality  the  distributed  exliibition  of  a single  plant — 
a plant  existing  nowhere  as  a fixed,  tangible  individual,  but 
everywhere  as  a theoretical  or  ideal  one,  having  its  parts  or 
factors  diffused  over  the  whole  surface  of  the  eartli,  in  the 
infinitely-varied  figures  we  call  “ species.’’  Some  species 
show  one  part  in  perfection,  some  show  another,  the  ideal 
total  being  best  represented  where  the  largest  number  of 
parts  occur  in  most  symmetrical  combination.  It  is  not 
the  more  thorough  completeness  or 'excellence  of  anyone 
organ  in  particular  that  gives  superiority  to  a vegetable 
form,  but  the  collocation  of  the  largest  number  of  distinct 
parts,  well  balanced  and  proportionate,  and  in  nowise  defec- 
tive or  confused.  That  such  an  archetype  governs  the 
forms  of  the  vegetable  world,  appears  not  only  in  completed 
parts,  but  conspicuously  also  in  the  quasi-Sibortive  or  rudi- 
mentary development  of  certain  organs  in  given  species, 
which  in  other  species  expand  to  high  perfection,  and  serve 
highly  important  purposes.  It  appears  again  in  what  are 
so  viciously  miscalled  “ monstrosities,”  as  when  the  Linaria 
vulgaris,  the  pretty  yellow  toad-flax  of  our  autumnal  hedge- 
banks,  makes  those  curious  efforts  to  rise  from  the  usual 
unsymmetrical  corolla  into  the  regular  five-leaved  form, 
nightly  regarded,  the  vegetable  kingdom  is  thus — not  what 
it  appears  at  first  sight,  an  assortment  of  discrepancies — but 
a grand  whole,  formed  of  an  innumerable  quantity  of 
smaller  parts,  the  mass  presenting  nothing  different  from 
what  may  be  discovered  in  the  individual,  and  th©  indivi- 
dual reflecting  all  the  qualities  of  the  mass.  Every  leaf  on 


CELLULAK  PLANTS. 


479 


a tree  is  a tree  in  little ; the  tree,  in  its  turn,  is  a leaf,  as  it 
were,  enlarged;  every  variety  in  outline  and  structure,  whe- 
ther of  bud,  or  leaf,  or  flower,  or  fruit,  is  only  another  ut- 
terance of  one  primitive  and  ubiquitous  idea.  The  very 
cells  of  which  a plant  is  built  are  so  many  plants  in  minia- 
ture, having  their  own  seasons,  life,  death,  and  renewal,  and 
performing  within  themselves  the  whole  series  of  vital  func- 
tions. Thousands  of  plants  consist  of  nothing  more  than  a 
few  such  cells  as  in  septillions  make  up  an  oak  tree,  mere 
microscopic  threads,  yet  in  all  the  characteristic  phenomena 
of  vegetable  life  they  are  on  a par.  Such  are  the  red-snow 
plant  and  its  congeners,  the  various  species  of  Palmella  and 
Protococcus.  Whether,”  says  Mohl,  they  consist  of  a 
single  cell,  or  as  in  the  Confervas,  of  rows  of  cells  united 
into  a thread,  each  cell  is  capable  of  an  independent  exist- 
ence. It  absorbs  fluids  from  the  surrounding  medium,  re- 
spires, and  assimilates  the  absorbed  substances;  in  short,  the 
simple  vesicle  suffices  for  the  accomplishment  of  all  the  va- 
rious functions  which  must  cooperate  in  the  nutritive  pro- 
cesses of  the  plant.”  According  to  the  closeness  or  other- 
wise of  the  analogy  between  particular  forms,  we  have 
species,  genera,  tribes,  classes,  and  so  forth ; the  skill  of  the 
botanist  largely  consisting  in  his  ability  to  collocate  such  as 
to  the  less  observant  and  sagacious  appear  alien.  Where 
there  is  the  greatest  amount  of  real  affinity,  there  is  often 
the  least  apparent  affinity,  and  vice  versa ; the  progress  of 
genuinely  scientific  Botany,  as  of  every  other  department 
of  natural  history,  consists  in  seizing  the  deep  and  perma- 
nent resemblances,  and  passing  by  the  superficial  and  occa- 
sional. Narrowly  looked  at,  the  smallest  mosses  are  found 
analogous  with  the  tallest  tree;  the  most  insignificant  of 
weeds  with  the  choicest  flowers ; Lycopodiums  disclose  ana- 
logies with  firs  and  pines ; the  gourd  and  cucumber  plants 
with  the  passion-flowers ; water-lilies  with  poppies  and  Mag- 


480 


UNITY  OF  THE  ANIMAL  KINGDOM. 


nolias.  Every  great  platform  of  plants  is  found  in  close 
analogy  with  every  other  j)latform.  Looking  from  the  out- 
side, the  throne  of  difference,  to  the  inside,  the  throne  of 
likeness,  the  same  old,  old  fashion  is  ever  present.  There  is 
nothing  in  Exogens  which  we  do  not  find,  prefiguratively, 
in  Endogens,  as  when  we  compare  the  pine-apple  with  the 
cones  of  the  fir  tree;  nothing  in  flowering-plants  which  we  do 
not  find  among  the  flowerless.  In  the  curious  Brazilian  fa- 
mily Podostemacese,  especially  in  the  genera  Lacis  and  Miii- 
opsis,  we  see  liver-worts  and  sea- weeds  as  it  were  in  bloom. 
Twining  j)lants  have  their  forerunner  in  the  fern  called  Ly- 
godium;  the  Casuarinas  of  New  Holland  their  precursors  in 
the  Equisetums.  Nothing  is  more  interesting  than  the  simple 
resemblance  of  large  and  little.  The  Mucedines  or  mildew- 
plants,  comprising  the  genera  Penicillium,  Botrytis,  Asper- 
gillus, &c.,  form  sometimes  in  the  space  of  a square  inch  an 
immense  forest  of  little  trees  from  one  to  ten  lines  high,  va- 
ried, but  always  elegant  in  their  ramification,  and  bearing 
at  the  extremities  of  their  whorl ed,  umbellate,  or  panicled 
branches,  bunches  or  heads  of  seed,  producing  the  most  ex- 
quisite effect.  Growing  on  aT  sorts  of  substances,  and  in 
all  latitudes,  if  they  do  not  attract  the  eye,  it  is  because 
without  the  microscope  they  are  scarcely  visible.  What  a 
new  w^orld  do  we  owe  to  this  wonderful  instrument ! 

273.  The  Animal  Kingdom,  like  the  vegetable,  is  a grand 
whole,  of  which  the  smallest  polyp  is  a perfect  representa- 
tive. None  are  ignorant  that  every  living  creature  eats, 
drinks,  and  propagates;  that  it  is  born,  grows,  lives,  and 
dies,  and  has  more  or  less  means  of  intercourse  with  the 
external  world.  A moment’s  reflection  makes  it  self-evident 
that  such  conformity  of  history  implies  a generally  concur- 
rent likeness  as  to  organization.  Animalcules,  a thousand 
of  which  do  not  exceed  the  bulk  of  a grain  of  sand,  are 
essentially  not  diflcrent  from  the  largest  quadruped.  They 


UNITY  OF  THE  ANIMAL  KINGDOM. 


481 


are  composed  of  members  equally  well  suited  to  their  mode 
of  life.  Their  actions  display  all  the  phenomena  of  instinct; 
they  move  with  surprising  speed  and  agility,  directed  evi- 
dently by  choice,  and  with  a specific  end  in  view.  They  eat 
and  drink,  and  must  therefore  be  supplied  with  a digestive 
apparatus;  they  exhibit  muscular  power  of  the  most  extra- 
ordinary amount;  they  are  susceptible  of  the  same  passions 
as  the  superior  animals,  though  differing  in  degree;  and  the 
satisfaction  of  those  passions  is  attended  by  the  same  results 
as  in  our  own  species.  These  and  many  other  phenomena 
of  the  same  nature  indicate,  beyond  question,  that  they  must 
be  as  highly  organized,  in  their  degree,  as  the  Mammalia 
themselves.  So  full  and  exact  are  the  analogies  which  unite 
the  various  provinces  of  the  realm  of  animals,  that  while 
every  inhabitant  of  a given  platform  is  in  general  affinity 
with  the  whole,  it  is  in  immediate  agreement  with  particular 
forms  occupying  the  platforms  above  and  below.  Every 
quadruped,  that  is  to  say,  is  in  direct  analogy  with  some 
bird,  fish,  reptile,  and  insect;  partaking,  it  may  be,  more  of 
the  structure  of  one,  more  of  the  habits  of  another,  more  of 
the  qualities  of  a third,  but  in  every  case  definitely.  For, 
as  said  above,  we  must  never  think  of  analogy  as  a matter 
purely  of  organic  structure,  Nature  does  not  confine  herself 
to  a single  mode  of  alliance ; structure  is  one  method,  others 
consist  in  economy,  to  which,  however,  structure  is  always 
co-ordinated  and  predetermined.  To  the  lowest  members  of 
the  animal  kingdom,  as  the  sponges,  Sertularias,  and  other 
‘^zoophytes,”  one  great  attribute  of  animals  seems,  however, 
to  be  denied,  viz.,  the  power  of  locomotion.  But  the  unity 
of  plan  is  only  curiously  varied.  All  the  fixed  animals  are 
aquatic,  so  that  the  constantly  changing  element  in  which 
they  live,  incessantly  brings  new  objects  into  contact  with 
them.  Unable  to  move  personally,  their  world,  which  is  the 
water,  moves  for  them,  as  the  atmosphere  does  for  the  trees. 

41  V 


482 


ANALOGIES  OF  MAMMALS  AND  BIRDS. 


The  sea-anemone,  glued  to  a rock  upon  the  shore,  bathed  by 
a thousand  waves  that  come  but  once,  is  far  more  of  a tra- 
veler than  the  worm  crawling  in  the  soil.* 

274.  To  illustrate  the  particular  analogies  of  animals,  we 
may  adduce  first,  those  existing  between  Mammals  and  Birds. 
The  analogies  in  question  have  been  noted  from  very  early 
times.  Naturalists  were  not  long  in  finding  out  that  the 
Quadrumana  or  monkey-family  have  their  parallel  in  the 
Scansores  or  climbing  birds;  the  Carnivora  in  the  Raptores 
or  birds  of  prey;  the  Cetacea,  or  whales,  in  the  Natatores  or 
swimming  birds.  Mr.  Newman,  in  his  treatise  on  the  System 
of  Nature,’’  sums  them  up  most  felicitously.  Thus: — ‘‘The 
parrots  among  birds  emulate  the  monkeys  among  placentals  ; 
they  eat  all  kinds  of  food  that  they  can  procure;  they  obtain 
it  in  the  same  situations;  they  seek  it  in  the  same  way — 
by  climbing — for  a parrot  does  not  run  or  leap  like  other 
birds,  but  like  a monkey,  climbs  slowly  and  solemnly  from 
bough  to  bough.  Its  foot  is  constantly  used  as  a hand  for 
conveying  food  to  the  mouth ; its  chattering  voice  is  also 
similar;  its  large  brain  an-d  peculiar  tact  in  imitation  are 
still  additional  similarities.”  No  less  striking  is  the  agree- 
ment between  the  carnivora  and  the  birds  of  prey.  What 
the  lion  and  the  tiger  are  among  the  former,  the  same — and 
in  many  more  points  than  the  thirst  for  blood,  and  the  pur- 
suit of  living  quarry, — are  the  eagle  and  the  vulture  among 
the  tenants  of  the  air.  So  with  the  birds  denominated  the 
Insessores  or  Perchers,  such  as  the  sparrow,  the  raven,  and 
the  thrush.  These  are  the  feathered  analogues  of  that  class 


* The  Actinias  are  not  absolutely  fixed.  Ordinarily  so  found,  they 
have  the  power,  nevertheless,  of  detaching  themselves,  and  moving 
away.  Tiiey  do  this  either  by  slowly  gliding  along;  or  by  revers- 
ing the  body,  and  using  the  tentacula  as  feet;  or  by  inflating  the 
body  with  water,  and  committing  themselves  to  the  waves. 


ANALOGIES  OF  REPTILES  AND  MOLLUSCA.  483 


of  quadrupeds  to  which  the  mouse  and  the  squirrel  belong. 
‘‘Many  of  them  are  remarkable  for  their  attachment  to  the 
residences  uf  man;  they  perforate  our  walls,  make  their 
nests  and  bring  forth  their  young  in  holes  and  crevices  of 
our  roofs;  they  are  remarkable  for  boldness  yet  wariness; 
they  are  forever  intruding,  yet  constantly  on  the  watch; 
they  are  of  small  size,  and  infinite  in  number;  they  are 
merry,  active,  and  playful.  Who  is  there  that  has  not  com- 
pared the  sparrow  to  the  mouse?’’  Passing  to  other  families, 
we  see  in  the  wryneck  a feathered  ant-eater ; the  camel  and 
the  giraffe  remind  us  of  the  stork  and  the  ostrich;  the  pen- 
guins and  the  sea-gulls  of  the  seals.  Birds  in  general  are  to 
the  rest  of  the  vertebrata  what  Insects  are  to  the  inverte- 
brata.  Both  tribes  of  beings  are  remarkable  for  the  lustre 
and  variety  of  their  colors:  for  their  power  of  rapidly  sail- 
ing through  the  air;  for  their  high  degree  of  respiration; 
and  their  extraordinary  amount  of  instinct.  In  beautiful 
and  ingenious  architecture,  the  birds,  the  bees,  and  the 
wasps,  have  been  competitors  since  the  world  began. 

275.  In  the  inferior  tribes  of  animals  we  have  analogies 
precisely  similar,  as  in  the  likeness  of  the  shell-bearing 
mollusca,  such  as  the  snail,  to  certain  members  of  the  tribe 
of  reptiles.  As  it  slowly  crawls  along,  with  head  and  tail 
alone  protruding,  we  see  over  again  the  general  figure  and 
proverbial  slowness  of  the  tortoise.  The  fish  called  the 
Tansy,  or  Blennius  pholis,  is  remarkable  for  its  skill  in 
building  nests  like  those  of  birds.  “What  makes  this  fish,” 
says  Mr.  Gosse,  “more  than  usually  interesting  is,  that  it  is 
one  of  those  species  which  construct  an  elaborate  nest  for 
the  deposition  of  their  eggs  and  the  hatching  of  their 
young— 

Atque  avium  dulces  nidos  imitata  sub  undis ! 

In  Mr.  Couch’s  “Illustrations  of  Instinct”  (p.  252  et  seq,) 


484  THE  STRAWBERIIY-CIIAB  AND  OTJRANG-OUTANG. 

the  construction  of  the  little  dwelling,  of  fragments  of  coral- 
line and  other  sea-weeds,  interwoven  by  silken  threads,  its 
suspension  from  an  overhanging  rock,  the  dej)osition  of  the 
amber-colored  eggs,  the  haliits  of  the  new-born  young,  the 
danger  they  incur  from  predatory  enemies,  and  the  vigilant 
care  of  the  affectionate  parent,  are  well  described.”  From 
the  same  author  may  be  cited  another  curious  history. 
‘‘The  Strawberry-crab  (Eurynome  aspera),  so  called  from 
its  being  studded  all  over  with  pink  tubercles  on  a white 
ground,”  he  tells  us,  “ is  a climher.  If  it  were  a terrestrial 
animal,  I should  say  its  habits  were  arboreal  True,  it  now 
and  then  wanders  over  the  bottom  of  its  abode,  with  slow 
and  painful  march,  but  generally  it  seeks  an  elevated  posi- 
tion. We  usually  s^^e  it  in  the  morning  perched  on  the 
summit  of  some  one  of  the  more  bushy  weeds  of  the  Aqua- 
rium, as  the  Chondrus  or  Phyllophora  rubens,  where  it  has 
taken  its  station  during  the  night,  the  season  of  its  chief 
activity,  as  of  most  other  Crustacea.  While  watching  it 
climb,”  he  continues,  “I  was  strongly  reminded  of  the 
Ourang-Outang  at  the  Zoological  Gardens ; the  manner  in 
which  each  of  these  very  dissimilar  animals  performed  the 
same  feat  was  so  closely  alike  as  to  create  an  agreeable  feeling 
of  surprise.”*  This  crab  resembles  the  monkeys  also  in  its 
great  length  of  arm,  obviously  an  adaptation  for  climbing; 
seen  also  in  the  Sloths  of  South  America,  which  are  almost 
exclusively  arboreal;  in  the  Longicorns  among  beetles, 
which  are  essentially  tree-insects ; and  in  the  perpendicular 
web-makers  among  the  Spiders.  The  Cephalopoda  or 
Cuttle-fishes  are  preeminently  the  Felidae  of  the  ocean. 
Lying  in  wait  for  living  prey ; lurking  in  secrecy  to  spring 
upon  it;  feeding  chiefly  in  the  twilight  or  at  night;  their 


* The  Aquarium,  pp.  127-131. 


FOSSIL  PLANTS  AND  ANIMALS. 


485 


strength  and  rapidity  of  movement  render  them  formidable 
enemies  to  many  of  their  fellow-inhabitants  of  the  Avaters. 
They  are,  moreover,  the  chamseleons  of  the  deep,  having  the 
power  of  rapidly  changing  the  color  of  the  skin  as  emergen- 
cies require.  The  Pteropoda  (wing-footed),  so  called  from 
the  peculiar  lateral  appendages  which  constitute  their  prin- 
cipal means  of  progression,  are  the  moths  and  butterflies  of 
the  sea.  Insects  in  general,  are  represented  there  by  the 
Crustacea,  a tribe  nearly  allied  to  them.  Ho  true  insect 
ever  occurs  in  salt  water. 

276.  Fossil  species  no  less  than  living  ones  attest  the  unity 
of  organic  life.  Whether  antediluvian  or  recent,  there  is 
only  one  system  of  structure,  either  for  animals  or  for  plants. 
‘‘Throughout  all  formations,  the  grand  truth  to  which  every 
accession  of  geological  discovery  bears  witness,  is  the  prin- 
ciple of  unity 'of  plan.  Even  the  most  seemingly  monstrous 
and  incongruous  forms  of  animated  existence  in  past  times, 
are  all,  without  exception,  constituted  according  to  regular 
modifications  of  a common  type,  and  with  parts,  organs,  and 
functions,  related  by  the  closest  analogies  to  one  another; 
so  that  no  sooner  is  a new  specimen  detected  than  it  imme- 
diately finds  its  proper  position  in  the  scheme  of  nature. 
Whether  an  absolutely  new  form,  or  offering  appearances 
intermediate,  a place  can  be  assigned  to  it,  and  this  invari- 
ably too  in  such  a manner  that  it  either  tends  “to  supply  a 
link  of  affinity  between  orders  of  beings  already  related,  or 
indicates  some  new  and  unexpected  point  of  analogy.’’* 
Take  a few  examples.  Ho  living  species  of  animals  have 
wider  intervals  between  them  than  those  belonging  to  the 
Pachydermata,  or  family  of  the  rhinoceros  and  elephant. 
But  in  the  ages  when  the  tertiary  strata  were  deposited,  this 


Baden  Powell,  “ Philosophy  of  Creation,’^  p.  337- 


486 


UNITY  OF  ANIMALS  WITH  PLANTS. 


tribe  of  quadrupeds  was  far  more  abundant  than  now;  the 
fossil  species  supply  the  links  whicli  are  needed  to  unite  tlie 
existing  kinds,  and  complete  the  series.  Of  tlie  reptilian 
creatures  we  now  similarly  possess  only  a remnant.  This 
earth  was  for  thousands  of  years  the  abode  of  numerous  spe- 
cies no  longer  to  be  found  alive,  the  Ichthyosaurus,  the  Ple- 
siosaurus, and  the  Iguanodon;  the  fossil  and  the  living 
taken  together,  make  up  the  series  to  which  they  are  mu- 
fually  indispensable.  The  same  with  fossil  plants.  The 
Calamites  of  the  coal-formation  take  their  place  in  the  exist- 
ing family  of  Equisetacese;  the  Lepidodendra  are  interme- 
diate between  living  Lycopodiace^e  and  Coniferse,  approach- 
ing, however,  more  nearly  to  the  former;  and  even  the 
Sigillarias  find,  as  far  as  the  particulars  of  their  organiza- 
tion are  known,  a definite  place  in  the  living  flora  that 
surrounds  us.  Nature,  we  thus  learn,  knows  nothing  of 
past  and  present.  The  relics  of  bygone  ages  are  not  relics 
of  extinct  systems,  simply  of  extinct  species.  The  trilpbites 
and  pterodactyles,  the  Sigillarias  and  the  Lepidodendra,  are 
as  much  a part  of  the  chain  of  being  as  the  zebra  and  the 
camel,  the  oak  and  the  myrtle-tree,  and  are  fully  as  essential 
to  its  completeness. 

277.  That  Animals  and  Plants  taken  together,  form  a 
whole,  is  a fact  no  less  obvious  than  the  unity  of  either  king- 
dom considered  separately.  As  organized  beings,  formed  of 
solids  and  fluids,  maintaining,  and  maintained  by,  an  inces- 
sant cyclical  action,  born  of  a parent,  or  rather  of  parents, 
growing  to  a given  bulk,  feeding,  sleeping,  reproducing  their 
kind,  and  on  the  expiration  of  their  lease  of  life,  dying,  and 
giving  place  to  their  descendants;  the  members  of  these  two 
great  realms  are  perfectly  and  in  every  point  ajialogous. 
Every  function  in  the  one  is  so  closely  imaged  in  the  other, 
that  although  in  no  case  identically  the  same,  it  is  impos 
sible  not  to  recognize  them  as  determined  by  a common  law. 


UNITY  OF  ANIMALS  WITH  PLANTS. 


487 


Physiologically,  they  are  one.  The  wide  difference  in  the 
general  configuration  of  the  two  classes  of  beings  takes  no- 
thing from  the  integrity  of  the  principle.  The  unlikeness 
in  general  form  which  on  a superficial  contrast,  would  keep 
asunder  the  quadruped  and  the  tree,  would  on  the  same 
reasoning  keep  even  further  apart  the  mammal  and  the 
polyp.  The  unlikeness,  after  all,  is  not  so  great  as  we  are 
apt  to  suppose.  There  is  little  resemblance,  it  is  true,  be- 
tween the  totality  of  plants  compared  with  animals;  we 
must  not  expect  that,  because  analogous,  a menagerie  and  a 
flower-garden  will  be  like  seal  and  impression;  taking,  how- 
ever, one  object  at  a time,  and  though  no  analogue  be 
straightway  found,  instead  of  throwing  it  on  one  side,  pa- 
tiently and  sanguinely  persisting  in  the  search,  knowing 
what  we  look  for,  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  of  animals 
for  which  a parallel  may  not  be  found  in  the  world  of  plants. 
Examples  of  these  parallels  were  cited  in  the  chapter  on 
Prefiguration,  leading,  as  we  there  saw,  to  the  transfer  of 
animals’  names  to  plants,  and  of  plants’  names  to  animals. 
It  will  suffice  to  add,  that  while  plants,  as  a whole,  occupy 
a platform  beneath  animals,  so  do  their  particular  races,  and 
even  species,  occupy  specific  places,  each  higher  kind  of 
organism  standing,  as  it  were,  virtually  above  the  next 
inferior,  the  mammal  at  the  summit,  the  plant  underneath, 
and  probably  a mineral  below  the  plant.  As  the  parrots, 
for  instance,  answer  to  the  monkeys,  so  do  the  epiphytic 
Orchids  to  the  parrots.  They  reside,  like  both  classes  of 
creatures,  not  upon  the  ground,  as  other  plants  do,  but  upon 
the  boughs  and  branches  of  trees;  the  gaudy  plumage  of 
the  parrots  they  almost  surpass  in  the  brilliant  coloring  of 
their  petals;  the  aptitude  for  mimicry  in  the  monkeys  they 
parallel  in  their  extraordinary  counterfeits  of  the  shapes  of 
insects,  birds,  and  reptiles.  It  may  be  remarked  here  that 
Nature  has  her  mountain-families,  her  sea-families,  her  river- 


4S8 


GEOGRAPHICAL  ASSOCIATIONS. 


families,  and  so  forth,  in  every  department.  The  monkeys, 
the  parrots,  and  the  epipliytic  Orchids  are  peculiarly  her 
threefold  fared  family,  at  least  as  regards  the  tropics.  In 
the  torrid  zone  the  parrots  are  the  princi})al  of  the  birds 
which  make  their  dwelling  in  the  woods;  they  rarely  de- 
scend to  the  ground,  and  numerous  in  individuals,  fill  the 
forest  with  their  disagreeable  cries.  Similarly,  the  monkeys, 
so  well  adapted  for  a life  in  the  woods,  by  the  structure  of 
their  bodies,  and  the  nature  of  their  food,  numerous  also 
both  in  species  and  individuals,  live  almost  entirely  in  the 
trees.  In  the  forests  of  tropical  South  America,  the  Orchids 
are  described  as  growing  in  myriads,  adorning  the  living 
trunks  as  it  were  with  jewels,  and  rendering  the  prostrate 
beautiful  even  in  death. 

278.  In  no  light  does  the  analogy  of  plants  and  animals 
appear  more  striking,  than  when  we  compare  the  great 
natural  groups  into  which  they  are  scientifically  divided. 
In  both  there  is  a common  archetype,  but  in  both  there  are 
many  sub-types,  the  latter  being  the  ground  of  the  distinc- 
tions of  tribes,  orders,  classes,  genera,  and  so  forth.  Ordi- 
narily, the  animal  world  is  divided  first  into  Vertebrata  and 
Invertebrata ; or  animals  with  a spine,  and  internal  skeleton, 
such  as  man;  and  animals  destitute  of  a spinal  column,  and 
with  their  bony  part  on  the  outside,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
crab.  Plants,  after  the  same  manner,  are  primarily  distin- 
guished by  almost  all,  into  the  two  great  classes  of  Phseno- 
gamia  and  Cryptogamia,  or  flowering  and  flowerless,  the 
former  distinguished  by  their  conspicuous  stamens  and 
pistils,  or  reproductive  apparatus;  the  latter  by  the  appa- 
rent absence  of  these  parts.  The  Cryptogamia  comprise  the 
ferns,  sea-weeds,  lichens,  and  similar  plants;  the  Phieno- 
gamia  include  all  kinds  of  trees,  shrubs,  and  the  remainder 
of  the  herbaceous  vegetation  of  our  planet.  In  both  cases 
the  negative  is  intensely  deceptive.  We  might  as  reasonably 


QUATERNARY  SYSTEM  OF  ORGANIZED  BEINGS.  489 

divide  animals  into  radiate  and  non-radiate,  or  plants  into 
fungoid  and^non-fungoid,  as  say  “vertebrate’’  and  “mverte- 
brate,”  “flowering”  and  “flowerless.”  The  invertebrate 
tribes  of  animals,  and  the  flowerless  tribes  of  plants,  are  in 
. no  sense  natural,  coherent,  and  symmetrical  groups.  So  far 
from  it,  they  differ  among  themselves  quite  as  widely  as  in 
the  collective  from  the  vertebrated  and  the  phsenogamous. 
The  true  distinction  to  begin  with  is  the  quadruple,  namely, 
of  Animals  into  Vertebrata,  Articulata,  Mollusca,  and  Ra- 
diata;  and  of  Plants  into  Exogens,  Endogens,  Cormogens, 
and  Thallogens.*  The  Vertebrata  comprise  man,  quad- 
rupeds, birds,  fishes,  and  reptiles : the  Articulata,  insects  in 
all  their  variety,  together  with  the  crustacean  animals,  such 
as  the  crab  and  lobster ; also  the  centipede,  the  earth-worm, 
and  similar  creatures:  the  Mollusca  comprise  the  slug,  the 
snail,  and  the  inhabitants  generally  of  shells,  whether  fresh- 
water or  marine,  univalve  or  bivalve : to  the  Radiata  belong 
the  star  and  jelly-fishes,  the  sea-anemones,  the  coral-creatures, 
and  most  kinds  of  animalcules.  These  last  are  all  of  them 
aquatic.  The  four  great  provinces  of  the  Vegetable  King- 
dom are  equally  intelligible,  even  to  the  least  practiced. 
“Exogens”  comprehend  all  those  trees  and  plants  which 
have  the  wood  forming  their  stems  deposited  in  concentric 
layers,  so  that  the  section  shows  beautiful  rings ; the  veins 
of  their  leaves  are  netted;  their  flowers  and  fruit  are  con- 
structed on  a quinary  type;  and  the  embryo  of  the  seed  is 
provided  with  two  seed-leaves.  Such,  for  example,  is  the 
structure  in  the  oak,  the  apple,  the  olive,  and  the  rose;  the 
first,  the  most  perfect  realization  of  a forest-tree;  the  second 
of  a fruit-tree;  the  last  of  a lovely  flower.  “Endogens”  are 


^ The  two  latter  groups  together  form  what  some  authors  call  the 
Acrogens,  but  to  view  them  as  one  is  certainly  incorrect. 

V 


490 


EXOGENS  AND  VERTEBRATA 


of  lower  development.  The  section  of  the  stem  presents  dots 
instead  of  rings;  the  stems  are  rarely  provided  with  branches, 
and  instead  of  bark  have  only  a hardened  surface;  the  veins 
of  the  leaves  are  straight  and  parallel  instead  of  netted-, 
perhaps  the  leaves  themselves  are  in  general  only  the  parts 
which  ill  Exogens  are  simply  the  petioles,  the  lamina  being 
here  undeveloped;  the  plan  of  the  flowers  and  fruit  instead 
of  quinary,  is  ternary;  and  the  embryo  has  a solitary  seed- 
leaf.  Lilies  and  grasses  of  all  kinds  are  endogenous,  and  in 
the  tropics,  the  number  is  swelled  by  the  stately  Palm-trees. 
‘^Cormogens’’  have  their  noblest  representatives  in  the  Ferns; 
plants  destitute  for  the  most  part  of  aerial  stems ; destitute 
also  of  true  flowers,  but  provided  with  elegant  green 
‘^fronds,”  which  serve  at  once  for  leaves,  and  to  bear  the 
fructification,  the  curious  and  characteristic  brown  bars  or 
spangles  developed  on  their  under  surface.  To  the  same 
province  belong  the  Lycopodiums,  the  Equisetums,  and  the 
Mosses.  Fourth  and  last,  the  ‘‘Thallogens’’  comprise  the 
singular,  universally  diffused  and  familiar  plants  called 
Lichens,  Fungi,  and  Sea-weeds.  None  of  these  plants  have 
proper  stems,  leaves,  or  blossoms.  They  are  simple  masses 
of  cellular  tissue,  and  are  scarcely  ever  of  a green  color; 
gray,  yellow,  red,  purple,  or  white,  replace  the  verdure  we 
find  in  every  other  race. 

279.  Now  these  four  great  classes  of  Animals,  and  four 
great  classes  of  Plants, — acknowledged  by  all  the  best  sys- 
tematists  to  be  strictly  natural,’’ — answer  to  one  another  ex- 
actly. The  Exogenous  plants  are  the  vegetable  analogues 
of  tlie  Vertebrata;  the  Endogens  of  the  Articulata;  the 
Cormogens  answer  to  the  Molluscous  creatures:  and  the 
Thallogens  to  the  Radiate.  The  details  of  the  several  ana- 
logies would  require  a volume  ; a word  upon  each  is  all  that 
can  here  be  given.  The  agreement  of  the  Exogens  with  the 
Vertebrata  is  known  to  most;  it  is  one  of  the  first  facta. 


FERNS  AND  MOLLUSCA. 


491 


which  the  philosophic  naturalist  finds  appealing  to  him. 
To  illustrate  that  of  the  Endogens  with  the  Articuiata, 
which  is  little"  less  conspicuous,  it  will  suffice  to  point  once 
again  to  the  insectiform  flowers  and  the  aerial  habitats  of 
the  Orchidese.  The  analogy  of  the  Mollusca  with  the  Cor- 
mogens  is  not  so  palpable  till  scrutinized; — it  is  hard  to 
think  that  the  shells  upon  our  mantel-pieces  can  have  any- 
thing in  common  with  ferns  and  mosses.  When,  however, 
we  compare  the  naked  molluscs,  such  as  the  slug,  with  the 
essential  part  of  the  fern, — which  is  not  so  much  the  frond, 
as  the  rhizome  or  root-stock  from  which  the  frond  arises, — ■ 
the  mystery  begins  to  clear.  Take,  for  instance,  the  rhi- 
zomes of  the  different  species  of  Davallia,  and  of  many  of 
the  genus  Polypodium , as  they  lie,  slug-like,  upon  the  sur- 
face of  the  earth.  In  the  ramosum  they  are  streaked; 
those  of  the  vespertilionis  crawl  over  the  edges  of  the  flower- 
pot. The  analogy  becomes  further  evident  when  we  com- 
pare the  fronds  themselves  with  the  peculiar  respiratory  ap- 
paratus found  in  the  Mollusca,  and  called  their  branchiae.’’ 
The  fronds  of  the  fern,  it  will  be  remembered,  are  the  respi- 
ratory apparatus  of  the  plant,  and  therefore  analogous  to 
the  branchiae.  These  latter,  like  the  ferns,  are  often  deli- 
cately branched,  and  stand  to  the  body  of  the  creature  just 
as  the  fronds  do  to  the  rhizome.  Such  is  the  case  in  the 
Nudibranchiate  molluscs,  delicate  and  fragile  little  creatures 
found  crawling  on  corallines,  sponges,  and  sea-weeds,  and 
usually  of  the  most  charming  and  diversified  colors.  Their 
branchiae  are  beautifully  arborescent,  in  many  species  doubly 
and  triply  pinnate,  resembling  the  fronds  of  the  Davallia  or 
of  the  Polyp)odium  Dryopteris,  and  disposed  either  in  a star- 
like  circle,  as  in  the  genera  Doris,  Polycera,  and  Miranda, 
or  in  a double  row  down  the  back,  as  in  the  Tritonia  (or 
Dendronotus)  arborescens.  This  most  elegant  little  creature 
has  a body  of  about  two  inches  in  length,  supporting  seven 


492 


MUSHROOMS  AND  JELLY-FISHES. 


or  eight  pairs  of  its  fern-like  plumes,  those  towards  the  head 
being  the  largest,  and  those  nearest  the  tail  the  smallest. 
It  is  met  with  on  the  shore,  in  crevices  of  rocks,  and  upon 
sea-weeds,  &c.,  almost  throughout  the  north,  or  from  Green- 
land to  the  English  Channel,  and  again  on  the  north-east 
coast  of  America.  The  reader  interested  in  knowing  more 
of  these  curious  and  unregarded,  but  exquisite  little  beings, 
iheoretically,  may  consult  the  admirable  monograph  of 
Messrs.  Alder  and  Hancock,  published  by  the  Ray  Society. 
How  the  analogy  between  the  Radiata  and  the  Thallogens 
is  determined,  may  readily  be  understood  on  a comparison 
of  the  higher  fungi,  such  as  the  mushroom,  with  the  jelly-fishes. 
Every  one  who  has  seen  these  latter  lying  stranded  on  the 
shore,  will  remember  their  circular  configuration.  We  have 
it  markedly  also  in  the  opened  Geastrum  and  the  star-fishes. 
Most  of  the  crustaceous  lichens,  and  the  fructification  uni- 
versally, show  circles  and  radiations ; and  how  common  this 
is  with  the  polyps  is  unnecessary  to  say.  In  the  beautiful 
white  laminated  coral,  the  Fungia  agariciformis,  we  can 
hardly  persuade  ourselves  that  we  do  not  see  a petrified 
mushroom;  as  for  the  analogy  of  the  Algae  with  the  Ra- 
diata, every  one  at  first  sight  takes  the  Sertularias  for  Sea- 
weeds. 

280.  While  the  innumerable  facts  which  disclose  these 
grand  analogies,  testify,  in  so  doing,  to  the  Unity  of  Nature, 
they  are  unanswerable  evidence  against  the  hypothesis  of 
the  Continuous  Chain.  Vertebrates  unquestionably  stand 
at  the  head  of  the  animal  kingdom,  man,  considered  zoolo- 
gi(;al]y,  being  their  maximum;  and  Exogens  as  plainly  stand 
first  among  plants ; the  descent,  however,  from  these  down 
to  tlie  lowest,  is  not  by  a single  line,  but  by  many  lines  di- 
verging in  widely  separated  directions.  No  tribe,  either  of 
I)hints  or  of  animals,  can  be  said  to  be  absolutely  at  the  bot- 
tom. Though  the  Radiata  and  the  Thallogens  are  placed 


TROPICAL  SEA-WEEDS. 


493 


there  in  schemes  of  classification,  a considerable  portion  of 
them  are  far  superior  in  their  development  to  species  be- 
longing to  the  higher  tribes.  Every  tribe,  in  fact,  both  of 
animals  and  plants,  possesses,  as  said  before,  an  extremely 
wide  range  of  form,  higher  kinds  and  lower  kinds,  the  for- 
mer always  superior  to  the  lower  ones  of  the  adjacent  tribes. 
Like  the  columns  of  the  orders  of  architecture,  they  begin 
in  simplicity,  but  are  crowned  with  sculptured  capitals. 
We  may  construct  a continuous  chain  by  taking  the  vari- 
ous tribes  of  beings  in  their  aggregates,  and  placing  them 
according  to  the  dignity  of  their  maximum  developments ; 
but  such  a course  is  impossible  with  subtribes,  genera,  and 
species.  In  short,  if  we  seek  to  arrange  things  in  a strictly 
arithmetical  succession,  we  not  only  depart  from  the  true 
order  of  nature,  but  outrage  it.  _ The  Kadiata  have  as 
good  a claim  to  be  put  second  as  the  Articulata,  and  the 
Mollusca  as  good  a claim  as  the  Radiata ; similarly  in 
plants,  the  highest  of  the  Cormogens,  or  the  Tree-ferns,  are 
incomparably  better  entitled  to  be  placed  next  the  Exogens 
than  many  Endogenous  genera,  the  duck-weed  for  example, 
which  hides  the  water  of  stagnant  ponds ; and  the  same  is 
the  right  of  the  magnificent  sea-weeds  of  the  Indian  and 
Antarctic  oceans.  The  U Urvillea,  when  cut  transversely, 
presents  zones,  with  divisions  resembling  medullary  rays, 
and  a sort  of  pith ; a similar  appearance  is  observable  in- 
deed in  the  well  known  olive-brown  alga  of  our  own  shores, 
the  laminaria  digitata,  or  Sea-tangle,  one  of  the  giants  of 
the  marine  forests,  as  regards  Europe.  Lamouroux  claims 
four  distinct  parts  for  its  stem,  analogous  in  situation,  or- 
ganization, and  relative  size,  to  the  epidermis,  bark,  wood, 
and  pith  of  Exogens. 

281.  The  true  position  of  the  subordinate  provinces  of 
the  two  great  realms  of  organic  nature,  with  regard  to  the 
ehief  or  typical  province;  also  the  relation  which  the  subor- 
42 


494 


EACH  ARCHETYPE  A KIND  OF  SUN. 


dinate  provinces  bear  towards  one  another;  and  the  relation 
again  of  the  wliole  of  eitlier  series  to  its  correlative,  ])lants 
to  animals,  and  animals  to  plants — the  following  diagrams 
will  serve  perliaj)s  to  make  plain : — 


Articulata. 


Enclogens. 


VEETEBKATA. 


EXOGENS. 


Here  we  have  the  Vertebrata  and  the  Exogens  the  centrb 
of  their  respective  systems,  the  subordinate  tribes  equidis- 
tant from  them,  each  with  its  lowest  forms  on  the  remote 
confines,  and  its  highest  next  the  archetype.  Each  arche- 
type is,  as  it  were,  a Sun,  transmitting  its  rays  in  three  di- 
rections, and  with  equal  force  and  effulgence  in  every  one  of 
them.  The  nearer  we  stand  to  the  luciferous  orb,  the  more 
sensible  we  are  of  its  qualities ; the  further  we  travel  away 
from  it,  the  fainter  becomes  the  light.  Leaving  the  apple 
and  the  rose,  for  instance,  among  Exogens,  we  come,  accord- 
ing to  the  point  of  departure,  to  the  palms  among  Endo- 
gens,  to  the  tree-ferns  among  Cormogens,  or  to  the  great 
tree-like  algse  of  the  southern  seas,  among  the  Thallogens. 
These  form,  as  it  were,  the  inner  circle.  Next  we  come  to  forms 
of  each  tribe  less  elaborately  developed,  and  thence  gradually 
j)ass  outwards  to  the  simplest  of  each  kind,  the  humble 
dwellers  at  the  ^^ends  of  the  earth.’’  The  Articulata  and 
the  Endogens,  the  Mollusca  and  the  Cormogens,  the  Radiata 
and  the  Thallogens,  may  be  placed  in  any  one  of  the  three 
stations;  it  matters  not  which  lie  upon  the  right,  or  which 
upon  tlie  left;  the  essential  point  is  their  equidistance  from 
the  centre. 

282.  The  distribution  into  fours  is  not  confined  to  the  first 


TRUE  IDEA  OF  FORM. 


495 


great  provinces;  every  one  of  these  latter  is  again  divisible 
into  a principal  and  three  subordinate,  and  there  is  ample 
reason  to  believe  that  it  is  the  same  again  with  every  one  of 
these,  Doubless,  the  further  we  push  in  our  inquiries, 
the  greater  becomes  the  difficulty  of  determining  these 
normal  centres,  and  what  characters  shall  be  deemed  indica- 
tive of  superior  rank ; but  it  is  certain  that  every  principle 
of  nature  runs  through  the  whole  of  nature, — that  every  type 
and  institution  is  repeated  on  every  platform,  though  we 
may  be  unable  to  make  it  out  upon  the  instant.  Nature 
does  not  disclose  all  her  secrets  at  once;  every  generation  is 
allowed  its  share  of  insight;  an  infinite  amount  is  reserved 
for  those  unborn.  Take,  for  instance,  the  Vertebrata.  The 
highest  of  these  are  the  Mammalia,  or  animals  that  suckle 
their  young;  the  remainder  are  the  three  obvious  and  well- 
known  groups.  Birds,  Fishes,  and  Reptiles,  all  of  which 
stand  equally  near  to  the  Mammalia  in  their  higher  forms, 
while  no  one  of  them  is  absolutely  the  lowest.  We  may 
repeat  here  that  in  the  true  idea  of  the  Form  of  an  object 
is  involved  not  merely  its  structure^  or  that  part  of  its  na- 
ture which  the  anatomist  is  concerned  with ; it  includes  also 
the  whole  of  the  qualities  and  dispositions  which  pertain  to 
it,  and  which  distinguish  it  socially  from  other  things.  And 
this,  in  fact,  is  its  essential  nature,  being  that  which  gives  it 
a place  and  function  in  the  general  economy  of  creation; 
thus  the  object  and  end  for  which  it  was  created.  The  End 
is  always  nobler  than  the  Means,  for  the  means  are  only 
processes  whereby  the  end  shall  be  attained.  In  all  our 
groupings  and  classifications,  therefore,  we  should  view  the 
organic  structure  as  intermediate  between  the  Artist  and 
the  End  he  has  in  view.  Put  in  a diagram,  the  four  classes 
stand  thus: — 


496 


THE  MEANS  AND  THE  END. 


Birds. 


MAMMALIA. 


Fishes.  Keptiles. 

Among  plants,  after  the  same  manner,  tlie  great,  primary 
province  of  Exogens  resolves  into 

Calyciflorfe. 


THALAMIFLOKiE. 


Corolliflorae.  Monochlamydeae. 

The  reciprocal  relations  are  in  these  minor  classes  precisely 
analogous  to  those  of  the  larger  divisions.  As  Exogens 
answer  to  Vertebrata  in  the  first  analysis,  so,  in  the  second, 
the  Thalamifiorse  answer  to  mammals. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


MAN  THE  EPITOME  OF  NATVME, 

283.  In  the  forms,  properties,  analogies,  and  discrete  dis- 
tinctiveness of  the  three  great  kingdoms  of  objective  nature 
is  set  forth  the  whole  philosophy  of  Life  and  Mind.  Here 
are  represented  and  expounded  the  threefold  expression  of 
the  Divine  life,  the  threefold  composition  of  the  human 
soul,  and  all  those  other  sublime  trilogies  of  the  universe 
which  declare  Him  who  by  wisdom  framed  the  worlds. 
When,  therefore,  we  would  study  life,  when  we  would  study 
metaphysics,  psychology,  or  any  of  the  profound  and  spa- 
cious themes  which  deal  with  facts  not  obvious  to  the  senses, 
our  best  and  shortest  way  is  to  begin  with  studying  Natural 
History,  or  the  science  of  minerals,  vegetables,  and  animals, 
their  forms,  relations,  uses,  and  correspondences.  The  study 
of  the  three  kingdoms  of  nature  is  in  effect  the  study  of 
Man,  who,  being  the  image  of  God,  is  the  finite  archetype 
and  summary  of  all  things,  the  world  over  again,  at  once  its 
lord  and  its  epitome.  The  world  is  threefold  because  man 
is  threefold.  In  the  constitution  of  human  nature  is  written 
the  rationale  of  its  entire  scheme  and  order — yea,  of  every- 
thing it  contains.  If  man  were  not  what  he  is,  and  if  he 
were  not  the  immediate  and  personal  work  of  God,  though 
there  might  be  a world,  it  would  be  as  different  from  the 
world  which  now  exists,  as  man  himself  would  be  different 
from  what  Almighty  Wisdom  and  Goodness  have  created 
42  ' 497 


498  INTELLECT  CONTINGENT  UPON  THE  WORLD. 

him.  The  primary,  essential  reason  of  the  world’s  being 
what  we  find  it  is,  of  course,  the  Nature  and  the  Will  of 
God.  Every  divinely  originated  object  is  a result  of  which 
the  Supreme  reason  lies  far  back  of  man,  far  hack  even  of  his 
intelligence  and  imagination.  Still,  it  is  man  that  we  must 
look  to  as  the  explanation  of  the  world’s  existence — lie  is  the 
proximate  reason,  the  point  at  which  our  inquiries  are  at 
once  stayed  and  rewarded.  Why  man  is  the  summary 
and  proximate  reason  of  the  world,  is  that  he  shall  be  a 
happy  dweller,  in  the  end,  in  the  mansions  of  the  heavenly 
j)resence.  He  cannot  become  this  unless  he  have  an  intelli- 
gence commensurate  with  his  glorious  destiny,  and  such  in- 
telligence he  can  only  possess  by  learning  the  nature  and 
will  of  God  as  expressed  in  material,  objective  forms.  In 
other  words,  to  realize  our  sublime  destiny  we  must  first 
learn  to  know  and  love  Him  who  has  provided  it ; but  this 
we  can  only  do  through  the  medium  of  the  finite  and  mate- 
rial. Only  through  this  medium  is  God  knowable  at  all. 
Without  an  objective  world,  rich  and  gorgeous  as  our  own, 
the  idea  of  God  could  not  be  conceived.  ‘‘As  there  are  no 
infinite  media,  no  signs  that  express  the  infinite,  no  minds, 
in  fact,  that  can  apprehend  the  infinite  by  direct  inspection, 
the  One  must  appear  in  the  manifold ; the  Absolute  in  the 
conditional ; Spirit  in  form  ; the  Motionless  in  motion ; the 
Infinite  in  the  finite.  He  must  let  forth  his  nature  in 
sounds,  colors,  forms,  works,  definite  objects  and  signs.”* 
Not  that  because  of  this  distribution  of  the  Divine  nature, 
we  are  to  think  of  it  as  a congeries  of  separate  and  sepa- 
rable elements.  No.  It  is  perfect  and  indivisible  Unity, 
variously  exhibiting  itself,  or  in  diverse  aspects  and  mani- 
festations, according  to  the  design  to  be  accomplished.  We 


* “God  in  Christ,’’  by  the  Rev.  Horace  Bushnell,  p.  139. 


INTELLECT  CONTINGENT  UPON  THE  WOELB.  499 


never  see  only  a part  of  God’s  nature.  He  is  present  in  his 
full  totality,  in  every  leaf  upon  the  tree ; in  every  little  but- 
terfly and  shell,  personally,  but  by  the  communication 
of  his  Life.  Nature  is  not  God,  neither  is  God  nature. 
Nature  is  the  Divine  Art,  expressed  in  material  configura- 
tions and  phenomena ; God  reigns  apart  from  it,  in  the  hea- 
vens. While  true,  then,  that  but  for  the  Intellect  of  God 
there  could  not  have  been  a world,  it  is  no  less  true  that  the 
intellect  of  man  is  contingent  upon  the  world.  In  order 
that  as  intelligent  beings  we  may  appreciate  and  enjoy  our 
eternity-life,  we  must  abide  for  a given  period  in  the  school 
of  the  time-life,  or  the  material  world,  using  it,  and  fulfill- 
ing its  duties.  This  we  can  only  do  by  being  in  unity  with 
it.  Things  can  only  use  what  surrounds  them  by  virtue  of 
such  a relation.  Plants  can  only  assimilate  mineral  matter 
by  virtue  of  their  having  a mineral  side ; animals  can  only 
assimilate  vegetable  matter  by  virtue  of  consanguinity  with 
the  vegetable;  man,  were  he  not  both  animal  and  plant,  and 
man  besides,  could  make  no  use  of  either.  He  is  competent 
both  to  apply  the  world  to  his  physical  use,  and  to  love  it, 
and  profit  by  it,  spiritually,  because  he  is  its  entire  nature 
epitomized  and  concentrated.  It  is  because  they  are  want- 
ing in  this  plenitude  of  relation  that  brutes  are  incapable  of 
heaven,  and  make  no  use  of  the  world  except  as  a place  for 
eating  and  drinking.  Man  would  be  as  short-lived  as  they 
are,  did  not  the  laws  of  the  world  pre-exist  in  his  own  nature, 
and  but  for  this  also  he  would  be  as  blind  and  speechless. 
Language,  narrowly  looked  at,  is  in  its  every  word  a spirit- 
ual echo  and  reflection  of  the  world  outside;  its  every  atom 
primarily  denotes  something  objective,  or  at  least  physical. 
“ It  is  only  as  there  is  a Xoyoq  in  the  outward  world,  an- 
swering to  the  Xoyoc:  or  internal  reason  of  the  parties,  that 
men  can  come  into  a mutual  understanding  in  regard  to 
any  tliought  or  spiritual  state  whatever.”  For  the  same 


500 


MAN  THE  MICROCOSM. 


reason,  every  great  poem  that  deals  freely  and  profoundly 
with  external  nature,  is  a ‘‘  Kosmos’’  of  the  spiritual  nature 
of  man.  None  have  so  largely  helped  forward  the  true  sci- 
ence of  metaphysics  as  the  poets,  who  have  stood  face  to 
face  with  nature,  and  sung  about  her  splendors. 

284.  Such  is  the  idea  of  man  intended  in  his  ancient  name 
of  microcosm,  or  “ little  world,’’ — a name  approved  by  greatest 
thinkers.  ‘‘Fantastically  strained,”  as  Lord  Bacon  observes, 
“by  Paracelsus  and  the  alchemists,”  who  made  it  the  ground 
of  their  astrological  speculations,  the  idea  has  to  a certain 
extent  lost  favor  in  modern  times.  There  are  not  wanting 
even  despisers  of  it.  “ Paracelsus,”  says  the  author  of  the 
History  of  the  Literature  of  Europe,  “seized  hold  of  a notion 
which  easily  seduces  the  imagination  of  those  who  do  not 
ask  for  rational  proof,  that  there  is  a constant  analogy  be- 
tween the  macrocosm  of  external  nature,  and  the  microcosm 
of  man.”  Misconceived  and  misa2)plied  as  it  was  by  the 
arch-mystic,  the  doctrine  has  at  no  time  been  in  the  least 
degree  falsified.  Rather  does  it  acquire  new  strength  with 
the  growth  of  science,  aided  often  by  those  who  are  least 
conscious  of  their  services.  Dating  from  the  oldest  philoso- 
phers, it  receives  its  best  illustrations  from  the  newest. 
Every  man  who  seeks  to  obey  the  golden  aphorism,  “Know 
Thyself,”  finds  in  his  own  nature  reiteration  of  the  world  at 
large;  he  finds  it,  both  physiologically,  in  his  body,  and 
spiritually,  in  his  soul.  “ Man’s  body,”  in  the  words  of  a 
popular  writer,  “ contains  the  elements  of  all  knowledge.” 
Its  chemistry  is  wonderful,  and  embraces  all  chemistry ; its 
geography  is  equally  so  ; its  seas  and  its  rivers  are  even  more 
wonderful  than  those  of  the  earth  ; its  temperature  contains 
the  whole  theory  of  combustion.  All  knowledge,  all  taste,  all 
sense  of  right  and  wrong,  is  compreliended  within  the  sphere  of 
the  microcosm,  man.  He  who  knows  man  thoroughly,  is  both 
leiirned  and  scientific,  and  what  is  better  than  either,  he  is  tlio 


ANALOGY  OF  MAN  WITH  TREES. 


501 


truly  wise  man.’’  “ In  man,”  we  are  told  by  another,  “ all  the 
powers  and  realities  of  the  universe  are  concentrated,  all  de- 
velopments united,  all  forms  associated.  Man  is  the  bearer 
of  all  the  dignities  of  nature.  There  is  in  nature  no  tone  to 
which  his  being  is  not  the  response,  no  form  of  which  he  is 
not  the  type.  The  human  organism  is  the  whole  xoofxoc^ 
with  its  life  infused  into  the  individual.  Man’s  organization 
embraces  all ; he  is  the  world’s  self-surveying  eye,  the  world’s 
self-hearing  ear,  the  world’s  self-enouncing  voice.  Hence 
he  is  termed  by  Goethe  the  plan  of  creation ; by  Novalis, 
the  systematic  index  to  nature ; by  Oken,  the  complex  of  all 
organizations.”* 

285.  Of  all  subjects  open  to  the  human  mind,  it  follows 
that  the  Unity  of  man  with  nature  is  the  most  lofty  and  in- 
structive. If  true  that  he  is  one  with  it,  then  the  study  of 
man  must  needs  be  the  study  of  all  nature,  and  conversely, 
as  said  at  the  outset,  that  of  nature  must  be  a microscopic 
view  of  man,  free  access  to  every  side  and  aspect  of  him. 
No  subject  defines  so  vast  a circle.  It  embraces  the  whole 
of  metaphysics,  and  the  whole  of  the  philosophy  of  Lan- 
guage, which  is  equivalent  to  saying  the  entire  range  of  the 
correspondence  of  things  spiritual  with  things  material.  It 
embraces  the  whole  of  zoology,  of  botany,  and  the  sciences 
of  nature  in  general,  making  all  things  fill  with  life,  and 
bringing  all  into  an  unexpected  fellowship.  In  every  sense 
of  the  word,  it  is  se^-knowledge.  “ The  man  who  does  not 
find  in  animals  younger  brothers,  and  in  plants  cousins  more 
or  less  removed,  is  unacquainted  with  his  own  nature.” 
How  beautiful  the  analogy  of  man  with  Trees ! His  physi- 
ology is  pictured  in  them ; they  have  members,  organs,  and 
tissues;  the  pendent,  flexile  branches  of  many  kinds  are 


Stallo,  Philosophy  of  Nature,  p.  107. 


502 


ANALOGY  OF  MAN  WITH  TREES. 


transcripts  of  the  locks  and  ringlets  of  the  head,  as  those  of 
the  silver-birch,  called  by  Coleridge  ‘‘the  lady  of  the  woods 
the  gnarled  and  knotted  oak  reminds  us  of  masculine  stur- 
diness and  muscles.  The  old  botanist,  Curtins,  has  a chap- 
ter De  arhorum  memhrisy  et  illorum  cum  hominis  membris 
conformitate,'^  imitated  by  Laurenberg  in  one  De  Analogia 
'plantas  et  hominem.f  Poetical  minds  dwell  on  it  enthusias- 
tically, as  SirUvedale  Price,  in  his  book  on  the  Picturesque; 
“ The  luxuriance  of  foliage  answers  to  that  of  hair ; the 
delicate  smoothness  of  bark  to  that  of  skin,  and  the  clear, 
even,  and  tender  color  of  it  to  that  of  the  complexion.” 
Then  he  shows  us  how  the  youth  of  a tree  corresponds  with 
the  youth  of  our  own  species,  each  being  made  beautiful  by 
its  freshness,  which  gives  way,  however,  with  lapse  of  years, 
to  dryness  and  wrinkles.  “ By  such  changes,  that  nice 
symmetry  and  correspondence  of  parts,  so  essential  to  beauty, 
is  in  both  destroyed  ; in  both,  the  hand  of  time  roughens  the 
surface,  and  traces  still  deeper  furrows ; a few  leaves,  a few 
hairs,  are  thinly  scattered  on  their  summits ; the  light,  airy, 
aspiring  look  of  youth  is  gone,  and  both  seem  shrunk  ana 
tottering,  and  ready  to  fall  with  the  next  blast.”J  A pas- 
sage in  the  elegant  “ Poetics”  of  Mr.  Dallas,  well  deserves 
appending.  “ Almost  every  page,”  he  observes,  “ that 
Wordsworth  has  written,  bears  token  of  his  belief  that  be- 
tween man  and  the  flowers  of  the  fleld  there  is  a close  alli- 
ance,— that  man  is  indeed  a Tree,  endowed  with  powers  of 
self-knowledge  and  self-movement ; — a faith  shared  by  many 
besides,  but  entered  into  by  none  more  entirely,  unless  by 
George  Herbert ; a faith  which  is  nowhere  more  strongly  or 


* Ilortorurrij  Lib.  vii.,  cap.  1 — 15.  1560. 
f Apparatus  Plantarum,  cap.  7 — 12.  1632. 

t Pp-  04,  95,  Lauder’s  Edit.  1842. 


THREE  KINGDOMS  OF  THE  HUMAN  BODY.  503 


more  frequently  affirmed  than  in  the  assurances  of  Holy 
Writ,  and  which  the  legendary  lore  of  Daphnes  and  Ariels, 
together  with  our  love  for  trees,  and  the  way  in  which  we 
lament  their  downfall  more  than  that  of  anything  else  not 
human,  proves  to  be  deeply  seated  in  every  bosom/’ 

286.  The  unity  of  man  with  nature  in  respect  of  its 
three  kingdoms  is  marked,  first,  in  the  structure  of  his  cor- 
poreal frame;  secondly,  in  the  triple  action  of  his  life. 
Begin  with  the  body.  Here  we  have  one  of  the  most  won- 
derful analogies  in  creation.  The  abdominal  region,  the 
lowest  part  of  the  body  proper,  is  our  mineral  kingdom : the 
chest,  with  its  leafy  lungs,  and  life-giving  heart,  the  source 
of  aliment  to  every  member,  is  our  vegetable  kingdom;  the 
head,  with  its  beautifully-moving  face,  and  restless  brain, 
supported  by  the  chest,  as  the  chest  by  the  inferior  part,  is 
to  the  remainder  of  our  fabric  what  animals  are  to  vegeta- 
tion and  the  soil.  Every  part  is  needful  to  the  well-being 
of  every  other  part.  As  vegetation  efiTects  important  and 
salutary  changes  in  the  earth  and  atmosphere;  and  as  ani- 
mals are  at  once  givers  and  recipients,  in  regard  both  to  the 
plant-world  and  to  the  mineral ; so  is  it  with  the  three  king- 
doms of  the  human  body.  The  need  of  plants  to  the  earth 
in  regard  to  the  promotion  of  rain,  and  of  the  earth  to  plants 
as  an  anchorage  and  source  of  food,  is  but  a varied  utterance 
of  the  sympathies  of  our  own  organization.  Man  himself 
is  as  necessary  to  the  earth  as  the  earth  is  necessary  to  him; 
the  same  is  true  of  the  corporeal  members  that  represent 
them. 

287.  As  in  external  nature,  by  the  law  of  promotion, 
every  superior  platform  carries  with  it  the  essential  qualities 
and  powers  of  all  that  have  gone  before,  so  is  it  in  nature’s 
Epitome.  As  the  plant  has  the  mineral  idea  in  it,  the 
peculiar  glory  of  the  vegetable  being  superadded;  and  as 
the  animal  has  the  vegetable  idea  in  it,  with  again  a brighter 


504 


THE  HUMAN  HEAD. 


dignity  superinduced,  whereby  it  feels,  and  moves,  and  be 
comes  capable  of  social  intercourse;  so  into  the  chest,  or 
vegetable  region  of  the  human  body,  are  continued  the 
attributes  of  the  earthly  or  abdominal  region;  and  into  the 
head  or  animal  region,  the  attributes  of  both  the  others. 
There  is  nothing  either  in  the  structure  or  the  functions  of 
any  portion  of  his  body,  but  is  in  the  Head  of  man  recapitu- 
lated and  reiterated,  and  in  every  case  under  a nobler  and 
purer  guise.  The  limbs  and  their  activities  reappear  in  the 
muscles  of  the  face,  and  that  lively  play  of  the  features 
which  gives  it  variety  and  expression.  The  digestive  system 
reappears  in  the  mouth,  wherein  the  whole  process  of  feeding 
is  at  once  begun  and  representatively  completed,  the  jaws 
and  teeth  taking  their  place  as  representatives  of  the  hands, 
— the  prehensile  organs  by  which  the  food  has  in  the  first 
instance  been  procured.  The  nose  re-enicts  in  little  the 
duty  of  the  lungs,  and  the  function  of  the  respiratory  appa- 
ratus in  general.  On  the  lips  are  beautifully  spiritualized 
the  idea  and  circumstances  of  sexual  love.*  The  eyes  in 
their  mighty  grasp  of  total  nature,  a microscope  one  mo- 
ment, a telescope  the  next,  renew  and  concentrate  the 
powers  given  by  the  sense  of  touch,  and  the  aptitude  for 
locomotion,  bringing  as  it  were,  the  whole  surface  and  whole 
mechanism  of  the  body  to  a single  point.  Hence  their 
beautiful  roundness,  since  whatever  in  the  universe  exhibits 
a totality,  is  invariably  a Sphere.  In  that  wonderful  frame- 
work, the  human  Head,  are  collected  accordingly,  symbols, 
representatives,  and  metaphors  of  every  organ  and  sign  of 
Life.  The  body  is  the  first  and  ruder  synthesis,  the  head 
the  last  and  finest.  Here  all  the  powers  and  elements  of 
nature  converge,  as  all  the  light  and  colors  of  creation 


Kai  f}  Hills  avrn  y^vKeia  ytverai  r^p  JlristOinetuSf  Epistles,  2,  7. 


THREE  DEGREES  OF  HUMAN  LIFE. 


505 


meet  in  the  grand  focus  of  the  Sun.  Most  naturally  is  it, 
then,  that  in  the  face  are  afforded  those  entertaining  disclo- 
sures which  indicate  man’s  hold  within  himself  of  the 
organization  and  inmost  nature  of  every  creature  of  zoology. 
When  the  features  of  the  monkey,  the  sheep,  the  bull,  sup- 
plant, as  we  often  see  them,  those  of  the  proper  human 
countenance;  when  the  mildness  of  the  dove,  the  cunning 
of  the  snake,  the  stupidity  of  the  ass,  paint  themselves  on 
the  physiognomy  of  our  fellows,  it  is  because  in  man ' they 
are  all  essentially  contained;  and  though  their  normal  and 
complete  realization  is  outside  of  him,  are  yet  competent  to 
look  forth  from  the  windows. 

288.  With  the  three  great  kingdoms  of  the  bodily  fabric 
correspond,  in  turn,  the  three  great  factors  of  our  humanity, 
the  Sensuous  life,  the  Kational,  and  the  Religious, — forms 
of  activity  which  have  each  of  them  their  distinct  place  and 
special  office  in  the  soul’s  economy,  as  minerals,  plants,  and 
animals  have  theirs  in  the  economy  of  the  world.  The  sen- 
suous life  is  the  mineral  degree  of  human  nature;  the  rational 
life  is  the  vegetable  degree;  the  religious  life  is  the  animal. 
The  first,  like  the  solid  earth  on  which  we  stand,  sup- 
plies the  other  with  a footing;  the  rational  life  is  that 
pleasant  green  sward  of  our  existence  to  which  belong  the 
innumerable  little  thoughts  and  emotions  of  daily  life, 
amiable  and  intelligent,  worthy  and  beautiful,  but  still  only 
secular  and  temporal;  the  life  of  religion  is  that  which, 
lifting  us  into  the  sphere  of  the  heavenly  and  immortal, 
crowns  and  consummates  the  others,  as  animals  complete  the 
glory  of  God’s  creation.  Wanting  either  of  these  three 
lives,  human  nature  w^ould  be  imperfect,  nor  could  we  exist 
without  any  one  of  them  for  a single  instant;  for  though 
man  may  refuse  to  exercise  the  life  of  religion,  the  power  to 
do  so  still  fiows  into  him  from  God,  and  is  an  integral  part 
of  his  vitality  as  a human  being.  Neglecting  the  privileges 

4;’.  W 


506 


THREE  DEGREES  OF  HUMAN  LIFE. 


of  the  two  higher  lives,  man  degrades  himself  into  the  con- 
dition of  a mere  globe  of  inanimate  earth  and  water;  caring 
only  for  the  sensuous  life  and  the  rational,  he  is  a mere 
world  of  trees  and  plants,  useless  because  there  is  no  animal 
to  feed  upon  them. 

289.  Between  these  three  lives  there  are  discrete  degrees 
as  decided  as  those  of  material  nature.  There  is  no  con- 
tinuity between  them,  any  more  than  between  mineral  and 
plant,  or  between  plant  and  animal;  each  preserves  its  own 
plane  of  beginning  and  of  end.  Hence  the  impossibility  of 
a man  ever  becoming  rational  who  attends  only  to  the  plea- 
sures of  external  sense;  or  religious  ty  the  mere  culture  of 
intelligence  and  morality.  It  is  no  more  possible  than  to 
procure  flowers  by  sowing  crystals,  or  birds  by  planting 
acorns.  But  though  severed  by  discrete  degrees,  the  three 
lives  are  intimately  bound  together,  the  highest  mediately 
beholden  to  the  lowest.  All,  moreover,  are  good,  and  excel- 
lent in  their  degree,  because  every  one  of  them  has  its  own 
dignifying  duty.  The  religious  life  is  intended  to  minister 
to  our  Maker ; the  rational  to  the  religious ; the  sensuous  to 
the  rational;  each  lower  life  thus,  eventually,  to  ends  of 
piety  and  the  praise  of  God.  There  is  no  greater  mistake 
than  to  contemn  or  disparage  the  sensuous  life.  Whatever 
is  subservient  to  delight  of  sense,  is  conducive,  while  used 
temperately,  to  the  best  interests  of  humanity.  The  perfec- 
tion of  a Christian  character  does  not  consist  in  ignoring  and 
despising  the  sensuous,  which  at  no  time  can  it  practically 
dispense  with,  but  in  honoring  all  things  in  their  proper 
places  and  degrees,  rejecting  none,  but  regenerating  all. 
Educators  have  much  to  learn  in  respect  of  this.  How 
foolish,  for  example,  the  doctrine  which  would  persuade  a 
girl  that  beauty  is  valueless,  and  dress  only  vanity.  It  is 
false  altogether.  Beauty  is  of  value;  so  is  dress,  and  of 
great  value.  The  thing  to  teach  is  their  value;  that 


VALUE  OF  THE  SENSUOUS  LIFE. 


507 


there  must  be  something  beneath  the  dress,  and  interior  to 
the  beauty,  better  than  the  silk  and  the  rosy  cheek,  and 
without  which  they  are  truly  no  more  than  rags  and  ugli- 
ness. To  dress  tastefully  and  prettily  is  one  of  the  first  and 
finest  of  the  fine  arts ; elegance  of  attire  is  a part  of  the  very 
method  and  style  of  nature ; clothed  in  our  very  choicest, 
we  are  still  not  to  compare  with  the  lilies  of  the  field.  Using 
the  sensuous  life  aright  is  taking  the  crystal  from  the  quarry, 
and  converting  it  into  a magnifying  lens.  Unimpaired  in 
itself,  the  investiture  of  it  with  the  new  and  higher  use  en- 
hances the  loftiest  pleasures  of  our  philosophy.  Everything 
in  the  sensuous  life  may  be  made  beautiful  and  poetical  if 
we  will  bring  it  up  into  our  higher  thoughts,  instead  of 
sacrificing  those  higher  thoughts  to  it ; for  the  sensuous  life, 
like  the  world,  does  not  so  much  want  subjugating,  as  right 
using.  Men  say  ‘‘nature”  teaches  them  to  do  so  and  so, 
and  excuse  even  licentiousness  on  the  plea  of  following 
nature.  Very  good.  We  can  never  do  better  than  follow 
and  obey  nature.  But  it  must  be  an  enlarged,  not  a partial 
survey  of  nature  that  we  must  take.  The  partial  study 
makes  it  seem  natural  to  abide  in  the  sensuous ; the  enlarged 
study  shows  that  it  is  infinitely  more  natural  to  come  out  of 
the  sensuous,  or  rather,  to  value  it  only  as  the  basis.  No- 
thing is  lost  of  the  enjoyment  of  it,  by  finding  “nature”  as 
much  in  the  rational  and  the  spiritual  life.  While  the 
sensuous  life,  thought  of  for  itself  alone,  too  often  becomes  a 
sensual,  and  thence  a vicious  life;  and  thence  again,  full  of 
dangers  and  anxieties,  and  usually  ends  ill,  perhaps  in  rot- 
tenness and  rags,  or  at  least  in  a peevish  and  despicable 
discontent;  the  property  of  the  spiritual  life,  thought  of  first, 
and  of  the  rational  life,  duly  honored,  is  to  infuse  itself  into 
everything  below,  giving  an  unexpected  zest  to  the  enjoy- 
meni  even  of  the  merest  animal  pleasures,  so  that  the  volup- 


508 


VIRTUE  DEVELOPED  PY  SOCIETY. 


tiiary,  who  pities  and  despises  what  is  above  him,  after  all, 
misses  his  own  aim  and  expectation. 

290.  So  with  the  rational  life.  If  it  be  foolish  to  despise 
the  sensuous,  a thousand  times  more  foolish  is  that  dis- 
esteem  of  the  secular  and  intellectual  which  is  often  thought 
so  helpful  to  true  piety.  The  Bible  requires  the  abasement 
of  nothing  on  the  part  of  man  beyond  his  preposterous  self- 
ishness and  pride.  The  design  of  our  Lord,  in  his  divine 
teachings,  is  to  make  us,  not  religionists,  but  perfect  men. 
This  he  does  not  propose  to  do  by  the  suppression  of  any 
part  of  our  nature,  but  by  developing  the  whole.  ^‘If  it 
could  be  proved  that  Christianity  interdicted  the  exercise 
of  the  intellectual  life  of  man  in  the  very  slightest  degree,  it 
would  have  as  little  of  the  truthful,  the  heavenly,  and  the 
practical  in  it,  as  if  it  forbade  the  theological  element.’’  It 
never  can  be  religion  to  contemn  and  disregard  what  ‘‘God 
so  loved”  as  to  visit  in  order  that  he  might  redeem  it.  To 
forsake  the  world  is  to  miss  its  highest  usefulness.  The 
hermit  may  have  few  vices,  but  he  can  have  no  genuine  and 
lively  virtues,  for  these  are  only  developed  by  social  con- 
gress. It  is  worthy  of  note  that  the  most  exquisite  produc- 
tions of  Art  are  precisely  those  which  approximate  to  the 
representation  of  spiritual,  intellectual,  and  sensuous  beauty 
in  a single  subject.  The  best  artists  are  those  who  can 
receive  and  apply  this  great  truth,  that  the  beau  ideal  of  a 
Christian  character  is  the  regenerated  triple  nature. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 


IKS  TIN  CT  AND  It  JE AS  ON, 

291.  The  brilliant  instruction  we  derive  from  considering 
the  three  great  kingdoms  of  nature  as  a trilogy  answering 
to  the  threefold  expressions  of  the  Divine  Life,  is  most 
largely  realized  when  we  turn  our  minds  to  the  contempla- 
tion of  Instinct  and  Eeason,  a true  idea  of  which  forces  is 
not  possible  until  that  instruction  be  listened  to  and  applied. 
As  there  are  three  expressions  of  life,  so  are  there  three 
great  classes  of  phenomena.  Those  of  the  lowest  degree  of 
life,  or  the  life  of  inorganic  nature,  are  the  domain  of  Che- 
mistry and  Physics;  those  of  the  physiological,  or  inorganic 
expression,  constitute  the  Instincts ; those  of  the  spiritual 
degree  disclose  Reason.  The  first  are  identified  with  the 
mineral  world;  the  second  with  plants  and  animals,  in- 
cluding the  material  body  of  man,  or  his  temporal  and  ter- 
restrial nature;  the  third  pertain  peculiarly  to  himself,  since 
he  alone  is  concerned  with  the  immortal  and  celestial. 
Each  degree  of  life  prefigures  the  next  above;  chemical 
phenomena  prefigure  instinct ; and  instinct  beautifully  pre- 
figures reason ; but  like  minerals,  plants,  and  animals,  which 
are  their  pictures,  they  are  altogether  and  eternally  distinct, 
because  between  each  there  is  the  barrier  of  a discrete  de- 
gree. Never,  therefore,  was  there  a greater  mistake  than 
that  of  Helvetius,  Condillac,  Smcllie,  and  those  other  au- 
thors who  contend  that  reason  is  no  more  than  the  maximum 
development  of  instinct ; in  plain  English,  that  “ reason  ” 
43  509 


510 


INSTINCT  CO-ORBINATE  WITH  LIFE. 


1 


means  ‘‘more  instinct/’  and  “ instinct”  “less  reason.”  This 
is  virtually  to  deny  that  there  is  any  difference  between  man 
and  brute,  and  thus  to  pronounce  both  of  them  imperfect. 
The  doctrine  arose,  without  doubt,  from  the  false  notion  of 
a continuous  chain  of  being. 

292.  Instinct,  accordingly,  in  its  true  ivlca,  holds  a much 
larger  signification  than  the  performance  of  certain  ingeni- 
ous works,  cognizable  by  our  senses.  It  does  not  consist 
simply  in  those  actions  and  trains  of  action  which  books  on 
the  subject  of  instinct  ordinarily  confine  themselves  to,  such 
as  the  nest-building  of  birds,  and  the  hunting,  by  the  new- 
born infant,  for  the  mother’s  breast.  For  technical  pur- 
poses, it  may  be  useful  so  to  restrict  the  term,  but  viewed 
philosophically,  instinct  is  co-ordinate  and  co-extensive  with 
life  itself.  The  actions  commonly  called  instinctive  are  ex- 
hibitions in  a wider  form,  of  the  very  same  formative  energy 
which  previously  moulds  the  various  organs  of  the  body, 
and  maintains  them  in  their  functional  activity.  This  is 
strikingly  illustrated  in  the  operation  of  the  “constructive” 
instincts,  such  as  impel  to  the  fabrication  of  coverings, 
clothing,  and  the  various  kinds  of  dwellings,  all  of  which 
are  a kind  of  ultimated  and  externalized  organization. 
God  is  the  organizing  framer  and  preserver  of  the  world  of 
living  things ; instinct  is  the  method  by  which  his  energy 
takes  effect.  It  is  the  general  faculty  of  the  entire  living 
fabric,  underlying  and  determining  all  activities  which  tran- 
spire, either  invisibly  in  the  organs  themselves,  or  as  played 
forth  to  observation;  thus  bearing  exactly  the  same  relation 
to  the  general  structure  which  the  constructive  chemical 
forces  bear  to  the  crystal.  Instinct,  in  a word,  is  the  opera- 
tion of  Life,  whether  promoting  the  health,  the  preserva- 
tion, or  the  reproduction  of  an  organized  frame,  or  any  part 
of  such  frame,  and  whether  animal  or  vegetable.  “The 
law  of  instinct,”  as  Mason  Good  well  puts  it,  “ is  the  law  of 


i 


TWO  DEGREES  OF  INSTINCT. 


511 


the  living  principle;  instinctive  actions  are  the  actions  of  the 
living  principle,  pervading  and  regulating  organized  matter 
as  gravitation  pervades  and  regulates  ^morganized  matter, 
and  uniformly  operating,  by  definite  means,  to  the  general 
welfare  of  the  individual  system,  or  its  separate  organs,  ad- 
vancing them  to  perfection,  preserving  them  in  it,  or  laying 
a foundation  for  their  reproduction,  as  the  nature  of  the 
case  may  require.  It  applies  equally  to  plants  and  to  ani- 
mals, and  to  every  part  of  the  plant  as  well  as  to  every  part 
of  the  animal,  so  long  as  such  part  continues  alive.’’*  Vi- 
rey  uses  similar  terms — ‘‘  Internal  impulses  of  life  constitute 
acts  of  instinct  in  plants  the  same  as  in  animals.  . . . 

We  distinguish,  therefore,  two  degrees  of  instinct,  first,  that 
of  the  interior  functions,  or  of  the  mechanism  or  organiza- 
tion ; secondly,  that  of  the  spontaneous  outward  impulses.” 
Carus  also,  when  he  calls  upon  us  to  observe  how  a plant 
‘‘  through  internal  instinct,  and  under  external  relations,  un- 
folds itself  from  an  obscure  and  insignificant  seed.”  To  the 
same  effect  writes  the  eminent  physiologist.  Dr.  Laycock. 

Inherent,”  says  he,  in  the  primordial  cell  of  every  organ- 
ism, whether  it  be  animal  or  vegetable,  and  in  all  the  tissues 
which  are  developed  out  of  it,  there  is  an  intelligent  power 
or  agent,  which  acting  in  all  cases  independently  of  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  organism,  and  whether  the  latter  be  en- 
dowed with  consciousness  or  not,  forms  matter  into  machines 
and  machinery  of  the  most  singular  complexity,  with  the 
most  exquisite  skill,  and  of  wondrous  beauty,  for  a fixed, 
manifest,  and  predetermined  object — namely,  the  preserva- 
tion and  welfare  of  the  individual,  and  the  continuance  of 
the  species.  This  g^tas^-intelligent  agent  works  with  an  ap- 
parently perfect  knowledge  of  number,  geometry,  mathema- 


* Book  of  Nature,  Series  2,  Lecture  iv. 


512 


TWO-FOLD  ODJECT  OF  INSTINCT. 


tics,  and  of  the  properties  of  matter  as  known  to  the  human 
intellect  under  the  term  ‘ natural  philosophy’  or  physics — 
that  is  to  say,  with  a perfect  knowledge  of  chemistry,  elec- 
tricity, magnetism,  mechanics,  hydraulics,  optics,  acoustics — 
but  as  far  transcending  the  limited  knowledge  of  the  hu- 
man intellect  as  the  structure  and  adaptations  of  living  or- 
ganisms exceed  in  beauty  and  fitness  the  most  finished 
works  of  man.  . . . . I take  it  as  an  established  prin- 

ciple that  the  qiiasi-mteWigent  agent  which  operates  in  the 
construction  of  organisms,  directs  the  use  of  the  organs  con- 
structed.”* Between  the  work  of  simple  vitality”  or  ‘‘  vi- 
tal power,”  as  it  is  customary  to  call  it,  and  the  externalized 
operations  popularly  understood  by  the  term  Instinctive, 
there  is  thus  no  real  difference  but  that  of  method  and  prox- 
imate object.  It  is  the  same  force  which  first  clothes  the 
bird  with  plumage,  and  then  impels  it  to  build  its  beautiful 
little  nest,  and  line  it  with  soft  feathers.  The  essential  unity 
of  the  two  classes  of  phenomena  may  readily  be  apprehended 
by  comparing  their  final  purposes,  which  are  in  every  point 
alike.  Whether  we  take  the  operations  of  simple  “vitality,” 
so  called,  or  those  of  palpable,  externalized  “ instinct,”  in  the 
popular  sense  of  the  word — all  have  reference  either  to  the 
temporal  welfare  of  the  individual,  or  to  the  continuance  of 
the  species.  Self-maintenance  and  propagation  of  the  kind, 
are  the  two  grand  purposes  for  which  the  mediate  or  physi- 
ological expression  of  life  is  communicated  by  the  Almighty 
to  his  creatures.  From  the  first  moment  of  their  existence, 
plant  and  animal  alike  are  actively  employed  in  building 
up  organs,  repairing  waste,  and  keeping  the  whole  system  in 


* See  for  a full  and  admirable  exposition  of  tlie  views  enunciated 
in  tlie  above  extract,  the  article  on  the  Brain  in  the  British  ami 
Foreign  Medieo-CJiirurgieal  Beview  for  July,  1855. 


THE  DIVINITY  THAT  STIRS  WITHIN  US.’'  513 

lusty  health,  unless  hindered  by  extraneous  obstacles.  A 
portion  of  their  vital  energy  is  simultaneously  directed  to 
such  activities  with  regard  to  surrounding  objects,  as  shall 
complement  those  transpiring  within  the  fabric.  No  new 
principle  is  employed  in  the  effectuation  of  those  activities  ; 
they  are  the  application  of  the  one  common  law  and  method 
of  life  to  the  furtherance  of  the  same  common  designs,  only 
on  a grander  scale,  and  hence  with  organs  often  specially 
provided.  The  two  kinds  of  phenomena  taken  together, 
form  the  system  of  vital  economy  by  which  the  organism 
and  the  species  alike  endure.  Doubtless,  man  may  train 
and  turn  the  usages  of  instinct  to  a different  purpose,  but 
wherever  it  is  undisturbed  by  the  influence  of  human  rea- 
son, the  predetermination  is  essentially  to  one  or  other  of  the 
two  offices  that  have  been  mentioned.  The  force,  called  by 
its  right  name,  is  the  life  of  the  Divinity  that  stirs  within 
us,”  but  for  whose  continued  influx  into  every  organ  and 
cell  of  plant  and  animal,  they  would  instantly  dissolve. 
Truly  was  it  said  by  the  philosophers  of  old,  Deus  est  anima 
brutoriim.  God  is  the  life  of  the  brutes,  and  no  less  so  of 
the  lilies  of  the  field.  Virgil  is  not  so  wide  of  the  truth  as 
some  have  fancied,  when  he  says  that  the  bees  have  in  them 
a portion  of  the  Divine  mind.  If  ‘‘in  Him  we  live  and 
move,  and  have  our  being,”  how  much  more  the  helpless 
creatures  of  the  plain,  whose  dependence,  we  should  do  well 
to  note,  is  an  infinitely  greater  truth  than  their  mdepen- 
dence.  Not  that  the  creature  is  a mere  cup  into  which  life 
is  poured  despotically  though  benevolently.  Though  all 
creatures  depend  on  God,  they  are  still  required  to  co- 
operate with  him.  God  does  one  part — He  does  everything 
in  reality,  but  one  part  more  peculiarly — the  other  is  ap- 
pointed to  the  creature  to  effect  as  of  itself.  To  this  end 
are  instituted  what  men  call  the  “ laws  of  nature.”  Every 
living  thing  is  put  in  a certain  relation  with  the  external 

w 


514 


INSTINCTS  AND  OUTWARD  STIMULI. 


world,  and  tlie  Avhole  of  the  external  world  has  an  express 
relation  witli  every  living  creature ; the  economy  and  the 
very  existence,  both  of  the  total  and  every  atom,  being 
made  to  depend  on  the  mutual  adaptation,  and  on  the  per- 
sonal activity  of  every  part.  The  instincts  are  not  played 
forth  purely  by  the  Divine  life,  arbitrarily  Swaying  and 
ruling  the  creature.  They  are  always  in  response  to  certain 
stimuli  from  without.*  We  experience  every  day  that  im- 
])ressions  made  on  the  organs  of  sense,  or  on  peculiarly  sen- 
sitive parts  of  the  body,  induce  muscular  acts,  sometimes  ex- 
ceedingly complex,  and  absolutely  indej)cndent  of  the  will. 
Often  it  happens  that  such  impressions  give  rise  to  actions 
which  are  not  only  involuntary,  but  are  performed  uncon- 
sciously. The  vital  activities  wdiich  constitute  Instinct, 
whether  interior  or  externalized,  are  referable  to  identically 
the  same  origin;  they  are  grounded,  that  is  to  say,  in  the 
process  designated  by  the  physiologists,  remote  sympathy.’’ 
The  extremities  of  the  nervous  filaments,  which  terminate 
chiefly  on  the  surface  of  the  body,  receive  impressions  cal- 
culated to  excite  them;  thence  those  impression  are  commu- 
nicated, by  a succession  of  nervous  influences,  to  the  muscu- 
lar organs,  which  acknowledge  them,  and  reply  by  perform- 
ing certain  movements  on  a definite  plan.  The  spider 
weaves  its  w^eb,  and  the  bee  constructs  its  honeycomb. 
Briefly,  particular  impressions,  conveyed  by  nerves  to  the 
nervous  centre  they  have  peculiar  reference  to,  call  forth 
particular  acts,  seemingly  deliberate,  but  in  reality  uncon- 
scious. What  these  acts  shall  be,  and  what  purpose  they 


* Tlie  well-known  opinion  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  that  the  actions 
of  l)rutes  are  under  the  constant,  direct,  and  immediate  direction  of 
the  Beity,  is  answered  with  all  the  care  and  respect  which  it  de- 
serves, though  with  a leaning  in  its  favor,  in  the  Dialogues  on 
Instinct  of  Lord  Brougham. 


FOUR  GREAT  CLASSES  OF  INSTINCTS. 


515 


shall  subserve,  is  no  longer  a physiological  question;  they 
belong  to  the  inmost  life  of  the  creature,  the  seat  of  the 
reception  of  the  Divine  love.  That  the  proximate  source 
of  at  least  the  externalized  acts  of  instinct,  is  the  ‘^remote 
sympathy’’  above  spoken  of,  is  illustrated  by  the  errors 
which  instinct  sometimes  commits.  The  moth  burns  its 
wings  in  the  flame  of  the  candle;  Blumenbach’s  ape  pinched 
out  the  painted  drawings  of  beetles  from  a book  on  Ento- 
mology, and  ate  them.  Such  acts  cannot  be  referred  to  the 
Deity:  they  belong  purely  to  the  weakness  of  the  finite. 
The  sensational  stimuli  of  the  instincts,  both  in  brutes  and 
mankind,  may  be  seen  fully  described  in  that  masterly  per- 
formance, the  Principles  of  Physiology  of  John  Augustus 
Unzer.  (Sydenham  Society’s  VoL,  1851.) 

293.  The  particular  phenomena  of  Instinct  are  referable 
to  four  great  classes;  namely,  the  instinct  of  Self-Preserva- 
tion, the  instinct  of  Self-defense,  the  instinct  of  Propagation, 
and  the  instinct  of  Love  to  offspring.  It  would  be  easy  to 
show  how  these  operate  in  the  very  inmost  economy  of  or- 
ganic life,  but  it  will  sufiice  here  to  speak  of  them  as  ulti- 
mated  into  ‘‘instinct,”  popularly  so  termed.  The  first  is  that 
which  leads  every  living  creature  to  seek  and  consume  food, 
to  sleep  and  otherwise  cherish  itself,  also,  in  many  cases,  to 
construct  dwellings  and  traps  for  the  capture  of  prey,  and 
to  migrate  to  milder  latitudes  during  the  winter.  The  skil- 
ful artisanship  of  the  industrial  classes  of  the  Insect  world, 
as  the  bee,  the  ant,  and  the  wasp,  illustrates  this  instinct  in 
its  maximum;  the  minimum  pertains  perhaps  to  the  serpent 
tribe,  in  which  few  examples  of  ingenuity  have  been  noticed. 
To  this  instinct,  it  may  be  added,  belong  the  greater  part  of 
those  wonderful  and  entertaining  anecdotes  which  form  the 
bulk  of  most  treatises  on  the  theme  before  us.  The  second 
instinct,  that  of  Self-defense,  is  illustrated  in  the  use  by 
various  creatures,  of  those  natural  weapons  with  which  they 


SPECIAL  INSTINCTS. 


oK' 

are  armed  in  case  of  assault,  as  the  sting,  the  talon,  and  the 
teeth.  The  ejection  of  poison  belongs  to  the  same  series, 
along  with  the  paralyzing  shock  of  the  electric  eel,  and  the 
shrouding  ink  of  the  cuttle-fish.  Here  also  are  to  be  referred 
the  anecdotes  of  pretended  death  by  many  of  the  lower 
animals  when  closely  pursued,  especially  insects;  and  of  the 
hiding  of  others  in  retreats  of  the  same  color  as  themselves. 
Birds,  for  example,  often  protect  themselves  by  keeping 
close  to  the  ground,  the  color  of  their  plumage  rendering  it 
difficult  to  perceive  them  till  they  rise.  In  the  instinct  of 
Self-defense  are  likewise  comprehended  all  those  interior 
operations  of  ‘‘vitality’’  which  provide  the  different  species 
of  living  things  with  a panoply  of  protecting  skin.  The 
maximum  operation  of  this  appears  in  the  scales  of  fishes, 
in  the  armor  of  the  rhinoceros,  in  the  carapace  of  the  turtle 
and  the  tortoise,  and  in  the  shells  of  the  mollusca.  Hair, 
fur,  wool,  feathers,  &c.,  are  so  many  varied  modes  of  effec- 
tuating the  same  principle.  The  instinct  of  self-defense  is 
much  more  lively  in  brutes  than  it  is  in  man.  So  serious 
are  their  exposures  to  danger,  and  so  limited  their  powers  of 
perceiving  it,  that  it  is  made  to  operate  in  them  with  a force 
only  equaled  by  its  instantaneousness.  The  most  interesting 
example  is  presented  perhaps  in  the  well-known  timid  cau- 
tion of  the  elephant,  which  will  never  cross  a bridge  without 
first  trying  its  strength  with  one  foot.  The  third  of  the 
leading  forms  of  instinct,  the  instinct  of  Propagation,  com- 
prises that  long,  beautiful,  and  most  interesting  episode  in 
the  history  of  life  which,  beginning  with  the  selection  of  a 
mate  of  complementary  sex,  underlies  all  the  delights  and 
energies  of  existence,  and  is  the  means,  under  Providence, 
whereby  “the  face  of  the  earth”  is  “renewed.”  In  connec- 
tion with  this  instinct  is  best  illustrated  the  law  of  special 
mstincts,  i.  e.,  the  particular  modifications  of  the  general  or 
fundamental  one  whereby  the  whole  of  its  intent  becomes 


INSTINCT  OF  PAIRING. 


517 


gradually  and  surely  effectuated.  Such  an  instinct  is  that 
of  pairing^  one  of  the  most  admirable  in  nature.  Every 
species  of  animal,  where  the  rearing  of  the  young  requires 
the  attention  of  both  parents,  is  subject  to  it;  all  such  birds, 
for  example,  as  build  their  nests  in  trees.  The  young  of 
these  birds  are  hatched  blind,  and  bare  of  feathers,  so  that 
they  require  the  nursing  care  of  both  parents  till  their  eyes 
are  opened  and  they  are  able  to  fly ; to  this  end  the  male 
feeds  his  mate  as  she  sits  brooding  on  her  eggs,  and  cheers 
her  with  a song.  Another  of  the  special  instincts  belonging 
to  the  general  one  of  Propagation,  specially  deserving  notice, 
is  that  by  which  the  sexes  draw  near  at  such  periods  of  the 
year  as  will  cause  their  young  to  be  ushered  into  the  world 
precisely  when  their  food  is  most  abundant.  Though  the 
time  of  gestation  varies  so  widely  in  the  different  species  of 
herbivorous  quadrupeds,  previous  things  are  so  ordained  that 
the  young  appear  early  in  summer,  when  grass  is  plentiftil; 
the  lambs  and  the  young  goats,  which  are  born  after  a five 
months’  gestation,  come  with  the  first  steps  of  spring,  be- 
cause they  love  short  grass,  such  as  a foal  or  a young  cow 
could  scarcely  live  upon.  The  young  of  pairing  birds  are 
similarly  produced  in  early  summer,  when  the  weather  is 
warm  and  genial,  and  they  have  a long  season  before  them 
wherein  to  grow  and  become  vigorous,  and  able  to  resist  the 
cold  of  winter.  With  the  exception  of  Henry  Home  of 
Karnes,  who  gives  a chapter  to  it  in  the  Sketches  of  the 
History  of  Man,  (Book  1,  Sect,  vi..  Appendix,)  authors  have 
treated  this  wonderful  instinct  with  a neglect  quite  unac- 
countable. Other  special  instincts  belonging  to  this  class, 
eminently  interesting  to  contemplate,  though  like  the  last- 
mentioned,  commonly  overlooked  as  regards  brutes,  are 
those  of  modesty,  chastity,  and  conjugal  fidelity.  The  last 
gives  efficiency  to  the  instinct  for  pairing,  and  is  indispensa* 
ble  to  the  nurture  of  the  young,  wherever  this  devolves 
44 


518 


INSTINCT  or  IM.ANTS. 


upon  both  parents;  modesty  animates  the  same  instinct  in 
its  beginnings,  and  gives  it  delicacy  and  bloom.  Tlie  most 
faithful  of  the  animals  below  man  are  the  pairing  birds;  the 
most  modest  is  the  elephant.  Tlie  last  of  tlie  four  geat 
Instincts,  Love  to  offspring,  is  like  Self-preservation,  one  of 
the  principal  centres  of  anecdote.  The  animal  world  over- 
flows with  that  beautiful  impulse  to  which  we  every  one  of 
us  owe  our  being, — that  sweet,  unworded  passion,  only  in  a 
weaker  form,  which  induces  the  mother  to  hold  her  offspring 
whole  nights  and  days  in  her  fond  arms,  and  press  it  to  her 
bosom  with  silent  gladness.  If  there  be  one  thought  more 
touching  than  another,  when  the  roll  of  half  a life-time  has 
either  given  or  denied  us  a pretty  little  one  of  our  own,  it  is 
that  of  the  patient,  yearning,  unreckoned  hours  when  we 
lay  unconscious  on  our  mother’s  knees.  Poor,  tedious,  wail- 
ing, unthankful  little  animals,  she  at  least  cared  for  us  and 
prized  us,  and  though  unsightly  and  uninteresting  to  all 
the  world  beside,  saw  in  all  our  little  face  all  the  beauty  of 
the  angels. 

Our  first  and  sweetest  nurture,  when  the  wife 
Blest  into  mother,  in  the  innocent  look 
Or  even  the  piping  cry  of  lips  that  brook 
No  pain  nor  small  suspense,  a joy  perceives. 

Man  knows  not,  when  from  out  its  cradled  nook 
She  sees  her  little  bud  put  forth  its  leaves. 

294.  The  instinct  of  Plants  is  similarly  played  forth  in 
maintenance  of  the  individual,  and  propagation  of  the  spe- 
cies. To  these  ends  they  are  endowed  with  a variety  and 
an  elaborateness  of  curious  impulse  quite  as  high,  in  propor- 
tion to  their  sphere  of  being,  as  that  which  is  observable  in 
the  Animal  Kingdom.  Except  as  objects  of  nomenclature 
and  classification,  plants,  ordinarily,  are  little  cared  for; 
they  are  passed  by  as  destitute  of  all  that  makes  animals  so 
interesting;  feeling,  consciousness,  volition,  undoubtedly  they 


TENDRILLED  AND  TWININQ  PLANTS. 


519 


are  short  of;  their  economy  is  nevertheless  so  strangely  like 
our  own,  that  it  is  no  wonder  a few  enthusiasts  in  every  age, 
as  Empedocles  among  the  ancients,  and  Darwin  and  Dr. 
Percival*  among  the  moderns,  have  fancied  them  suscep- 
tible of  pleasures  and  pains,  emotions  and  ideas.  As  with 
animals,  there  is  in  plants  both  an  inward  vitality  and  a 
series  of  externalized  actions,  complementing  the  interior 
ones,  the  two  together  making  up  the  sum  of  the  vegetable 
economy.  Wherever  the  health  and  well-being  of  the  indi- 
vidual, or  the  efficient  play  of  the  reproductive  forces,  may 
be  involved,  we  find  the  one  grand  general  principle  of 
Instinct  in  operation.  It  is  not  peculiar  to  any  particular 
part  of  the  plant;  it  pertains  to  the  whole,  and  resides  in  the 
whole,  operating  at  every  point,  according  to  the  exigency. 
As  examples  of  the  externalized  instincts  of  plants,  may  be 
cited  the  ingenious  methods  whereby  such  as  possess  stems 
too  weak  to  stand  upright  without  assistance,  manage,  never- 
theless, to  lift  themselves  into  the  air.  The  sweet-pea  and 
its  congeners,  the  passion-flower,  the  bryony,  the  vine,  and 
many  others,  effect  this  by  converting  the  extremities  of 
their  leaves,  or  a portion  of  their  flower-stalks,  into  tendrils, 
with  which  they  clasp  their  stouter  neighbors,  often  stretch- 
ing a long  way  in  order  to  reach  them;  the  Virginian- 
creeper  puts  out  curious  little  organs  like  hands,  having  a 
sucker  at  the  end  of  every  finger,  by  means  of  which  it 
attaches  itself  to  its  prop;  other  slender  plants  are  found 
twining  spirally,  as  the  hop,  the  convolvulus,  and  the  wood- 
bine, each  kind  adopting  the  particular  method  of  climbing 
for  which  its  organization  more  especially  adapts  it.  The 
ten  drilled  plants  are  destitute  of  these  organs  while  young. 


* Memoirs  of  the  Literary  and  Philosophical  Society  of  Manches- 
ter, Series  I.  Vol.  2. 


520 


INSTINCTS  OF  SOME  AQUATIC  PLANTS. 


and  at  first  tlie  twining  plants  grow  vertically ; the  instinct 
only  comes  into  operation  when  the  occasion  for  it  arises. 
The  wonderful  instincts  of  certain  aquatic  plants,  as  the 
Ruppia  inaritima,  and  the  Vallisneria,  are  well  known  to 
every  botanist.  The  first-named  curls  its  flower-stalks  spi- 
rally, so  as  by  coiling  and  uncoiling,  according  to  the  chang- 
ing depth  of  water,  to  keep  its  blossoms  on  a level  with  the 
surface.  The  other,  the  Vallisneria,  produces  its  male  and 
female  flowers  on  different  plants;  at  the  nuptial  season,  the 
former  detach  themselves,  and  floating  about  upon  the 
stream,  join  company  with  the  females.  The  innumerable 
curious  facts  familiar  to  the  phytologist  in  regard  to  the 
germination  of  seeds,  the  sleep  of  plants,  the  power  of  accom- 
modation to  adverse  circumstances,  and  other  such  points  in 
vegetable  history  are,  properly,  illustrations  of  Instinct,  and 
should  be  treated  of  in  the  same  way  as  the  gi^osi-reasoninof 
acts  of  brutes. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


INSTIJVCT  AND  MEASON  COJ^TIJS  UEJD. 

295.  Instinct,  belonging  to  the  physiological  expression 
of  life,  or  that  which  animates  organized  material  forms, 
has  no  other  end  or  function  than  the  maintenance  of  those 
forms;  whence,  moreover,  it  never  operates  without  mani- 
festing effects  in  the  organic  mechanism:  Reason,  on  the 
other  hand,  has  no  relation  to  the  body,  except  as  the  soul’s 
lodging  and  instrument;  it  belongs  to  the  soul,  purely  and 
abidingly,  and  may  be  exercised  without  giving  the  slightest 
external  token.  Instead  of  framing  bodily  organs,  and  ori- 
ginating physical  offspring,  and  inducing  the  various  phy- 
sical acts  on  which  these  two  great  aims  depend  for  their 
effectuation,  it  spans  the  sciences,  sails  deliciously  through 
the  heavenly  realms  of  poetic  analogy,  penetrates  the  signi- 
ficance of  things,  and  looks  into  the  very  mind  of  God  him- 
self The  life  whose  phenomena  are  the  instincts,  impels  us 
only  to  eat,  to  drink,  to  propagate,  to  preserve  our  fabric 
safe  and  sound ; the  spiritual  life,  the  phenomena  of  which 
are  forms  of  reason,  gives  power,  not  to  do  corporeal  things, 
but  to  think,  and  to  rise  emotionally  towards  the  source  of 
life.  It  is  by  reason  of  this  supra-instinctive  life  that  man 
stands  as  the  universal  master.  God,  in  creating  a being 
who  can  be  at  once  cognizant  of  his  Creator  and  of  himself, 
appoints  him  vicegerent  over  all.  ‘‘Man  thinks,”  says 
BufFon,  “hence  he  is  master  over  creatures  which  do  not 
think.”  With  adaptitude  for  thinking  comes  power  of 
44  521 


522  THE  SOURCE  AND  CENTRE  OF  MAN’S  DESIRES. 


spiritual  desire.  In  brutes  (that  is  to  say,  where  the  in- 
stinctive expression  of  life  is  all)  there  is  nothing  which 
reaches  further  than  temporal,  terrestrial,  purely  physical 
wants;  man  aspires  to  spiritual  and  invisible  things;  he 
desires  the  delights  of  intelligence,  emotion,  and  imagina- 
tion; the  source  and  centre  of  all  his  desires,  however 
unconsciously  it  may  be  to  himself,  being  heavenly  and 
divine.  They  come  of  the  souFs  insatiable  and  inalienable 
need  of  God.  ‘‘This  sentiment,”  as  finely  said  by  Victor 
Cousin,  “the  need  of  the  Infinite,  is  the  foundation  of  the 
greatest  passions  and  the  most  trifling  desires.  It  is  the 
infinite  that  we  love,  while  we  believe  that  we  are  loving 
finite  things,  even  while  we  are  loving  truth,  beauty,  virtue. 
And  so  surely  is  it  the  infinite  itself  that  attracts  and  charms 
us,  that  its  higher  manifestations  do  not  satisfy  us  till  we 
have  referred  them  to  their  immortal  origin.  A sigh  of  the 
soul  in  the  presence  of  the  starry  heavens,  the  passions  of 
glory  and  ambition  express  it  better  without  doubt,  but  they 
do  not  express  it  more  than  those  vulgar  loves  which  wan- 
der from  object  to  object  in  a perpetual  circle  of  anxious 
desires,  poignant  disquietudes,  and  mournful  disenchant- 
ments.”  If  brutes  in  any  case  had  spiritual  desires  (which 
is  tantamount  to  the  possession  of  reason,  seeing  that  these 
two  faculties  are  complementary  to  one  another)  they  would 
worship.  The  feeblest  glimmering  of  reason  among  the  most 
ignorant  and  savage  of  our  race,  is  expressed,  without  ex- 
ception, in  acknowledgment  and  adoration  of  an  unseen 
power,  some  “ Great  Spirit,”  before  whom  they  bow  them- 
selves,  whose  favor  tliey  seek,  and  whose  frowns  they  fear 
and  deprecate.  No  brute  thus  approaches  its  Maker,  nor  is 
it  able.  Tlie  ox,  in  its  rich  pasture,  never  raises  its  eyes  in 
gratitude  towards  lieaven ; it  spends  its  whole  existence  in 
})iir(ily  rnaUirial  satisfactions,  and  desires  nothing  beyond 
heritage  and  drink.  It  is  from  the  same  aptitude  to  think 


INSTINCT  IN  MAN. 


523 


of  and  to  love  God  that  man  alone  is  able  to  appreciate  his 
transcript  in  the  splendor  and  sweet  beauty  of  outward 
nature.  However  exquisite  the  organs  of  sense  may  be  in 
brutes,  “eyes  have  they,  but  they  see  not;  ears  have  they, 
but  they  hear  not.”  As  tersely  expressed  by  the  old  poet, 


vovg  bpa  Kal  vovg  aKovei’ t aWa  KCixpa  Kai  TV(p\a, 


His  mind  alone  that  sees  and  hears ; all  things  besides  are  deaf  and 
blind.  Epicharmus. 

296.  This,  it  is,  accordingly,  the  spiritual  degree  of  life, 
peculiarly  characterized  by  capacity  for  rising  to  its  source, 
which  distinguishes  between  man  and  the  brute.  Man  has 
the  instinctive  life,  the  same  as  the  brute ; but  he  has  the 
spiritual  life  in  addition.  He  has  it  by  virtue  of  his  possess- 
ing a “spiritual  body,”  so  organized  as  to  receive  con- 
sciously the  divine  love  and  wisdom,  and  to  be  able  to  reflect 
them  back  upon  their  Almighty  giver  in  the  shape  of  admi- 
ration of  his  works,  and  worship  of  him  as  Father  and 
Saviour.  This  it  is  which,  establishing  a distinction  be- 
tween human  nature  and  the  very  noblest  of  brute  natures, 
such  as  no  exquisiteness  or  complexity  of  mere  physical  or- 
ganization can  be  compared  with  for  a moment,  keeps  them 
infinitely  more  distinct  than  animal  and  plant,  or  even  or- 
ganic and  inorganic  substance.  Though  there  is  one  life, — 
the  instinctive,  common  to  all  organic  things;  here  is 
another,  the  spiritual,  peculiarly  and  unapproachably 
human,  so  that  though  plants  may  be  charming,  and  ani- 
mals beautiful,  man  alone  can  be  sublime.  What  glorious 
privileges  attend  this  life!  We  do  not  think  of  it,  but 
everything  superior  to  the  mere  gratification  of  bodily  ap- 
petite and  provision  for  physical  wants,  comes  of  our  being 
gifted  with  a spiritual  organism,  receptive  of  spiritual  life ; 
in  fact,  it  is  this  very  same  divine  gift  which  separates  man. 


1 


524  POWERS  GIVEN  BY  THE  SPIRITUAL  LIFE. 

even  as  to  his  animal  form  and  nature,  from  the  brutes. 
How  varied  and  beautiful  are  the  attitudes  he  can  assume ! 
No  animal  can  deport  itself  as  man  does,  nor  can  any  ani- 
mal but  man  move  in  the  graceful  undulations  of  the  dance. 
Embodiments,  each  one  of  them,  of  a single  and  separate 
principle,  brutes  can  do  just  one  thing,  concordant  with 
their  simplicity ; man,  as  the  compend  of  the  world,  can  do 
all  things.  Another  striking  fact  of  the  same  nature  is,  that 
while  the  eyes  of  animals  are  always  of  the  same  color  in  the 
same  species,  the  human  eye,  the  symbol  of  human  intellect, 
is  of  the  most  beautiful  diversity.  The  only  brute  in  which 
there  is  a tendency  to  variety  in  this  particular,  is  the  horse, 
which  animal,  it  will  be  remembered,  is  in  the  Word  of 
God,  and  therefore  in  nature,  the  representative  of  intelli- 
gence.* Man,  for  the  same  reason,  is  the  upright  animal. 
While  other  creatures  have  their  faces  turned  earthwise,  he  is 
dvdf)C07[0;;'\  the  looker  upwards.’’ 

Pronaque  cum  spectent  animalia  csetera  terram. 

Os  homini  sublime  dedit,  coelumque  tueri 
Jussit,  et  erectos  ad  sidera  tollere  vultus. 

(While  other  animals  bend  their  looks  downwards  to  earth,  He 
gave  to  man  a lofty  countenance,  commanded  him  to  lift  his  face  to 
heaven,  and  behold  with  upturned  eyes  the  stars. — Ovidy  Met,  i. 
84—86.) 

Lactantius,  in  reference  to  these  celebrated  lines,  contends 


* That  the  curious  white-haired  varieties  of  many  animals,  called 
Albinos  or  Leuemthiops,  liave  pink  eyes,  the  white  rabbit  for  example, 
argues  nothing  to  the  contrary,  because  the  Albino  condition  is  ab- 
normal. See  the  article  “Albino”  in  the  Penny  Cyclopaedia,  or  the 
article  Eye”  in  Todd’s  Cyclopjcdia  of  Anatomy  and  Physioloarv^ 

I).  101. 

•j"  7ra/ja  rd  av(o  aOpciv^  according  to  Plato 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  DISCRETE  DEGREES.  525 


that  the  erect  form  of  man  is  palpably  a proof  of  his  being 
designed  to  look  upwards  alone,  that  whatever  tends  to  at- 
tract his  attention  to  merely  terrestrial  objects,  is  contrary 
to  his  nature.*  To  the  spiritual  body  of  man  is  likewise  to 
be  referred  his  possession  of  a face.  Other  animals,  as  Pliny 
observes,  have  only  some  kind  of  muzzle  or  beak.  Hence, 
too,  that  other  eminent  characteristic  of  man,  the  visibility 
of  the  mouth,  “ With  wild  beasts  and  cattle,”  says  Apuleius, 
in  his  Discourse  on  Magic,  “ the  mouth  is  low-seated,  and 
brought  down  to  a level  with  the  legs ; it  lies  close  to  the 
grass  on  which  they  feed,  and  is  scarcely  ever  to  be  seen  ex- 
cept when  they  are  dead,  or  in  a state  of  exasperation,  and 
ready  to  bite ; whereas  in  man  you  look  upon  no  feature  be- 
fore this,  when  he  is  silent ; and  on  none  more  frequently 
while  he  is  in  the  act-  of  speaking.”  The  same  is  the  origin  of 
the  variety  of  the  human  voice,  so  different  from  the  mono- 
tony of  that  of  brutes,  and  even  from  the  most  perfect  sing- 
ing of  a bird.  The  cries  and  notes  of  the  inferior  animals, 
serve  on  this  account,  as  the  well-known  bases  of  their  names, 
in  every  language,  both  ancient  and  modern ; cuckoo,  peewit, 
&c.  The  great  distinction  between  the  human 
voice  and  the  brute  is  that  the  former  is  adapted  to  articu- 
lation, No  brute  can  divide  its  voice  as  man  does,  whence 
the  ancient  Homeric  epithet  of  “ voice-dividing  man.”  All 
these  things  are  illustrations  of  Discrete  degrees.  Whether 
we  take  attitude,  countenance,  or  voice,  the  ending  of  the 
brute  idea  is  absolute,  the  beginning  of  the  human  entirely 
new. 

297.  Man,  it  was  said  in  the  preceding  paragraph,  has 
the  instinctive  life,  the  same  as  the  brute ; he  has  it,  how- 
ever, as  much  more  amply  as  in  organization  he  is  superior. 


Divinarum  Institutionum,  Lib.  2,  cap.  1. 


52G  ENNOBLEMENT  OF  INSTINCT  IN  MAN. 

Flowing,  as  it  does,  into  a frame  so  mncli  nobler  than  that 
of  the  brutes,  it  assumes,  in  its  new  rec*i})ient,  a proportion- 
ately nobler  nature.  The  law  of  projiiotlorij  above  described, 
whereby  principles  and  faculties  lifted  from  a lower  j)latform 
to  a higher,  are  there  applied  to  new  and  greater  purposes, 
here  finds  not  only  confirmation,  but  its  most  conspicuous 
example;  the  very  instinct  which  carries  brutes  only  to 
physical  ends,  in  man  leads  to  moral  ones  besides.  Hunger, 
for  example,  which  in  brutes  impels  simj)ly  to  eat,  invites 
man  to  social  gatherings  whose  object,  at  least  collaterally, 
is  the  feast  of  reason.”  The  brutes  feeding  together  on  the 
grass,  do  no  more  than  feed  ; to  men  the  highest  delight  of 
meal-time  is  their  cheerful  and  salubrious  company  and 
conversation.  Eating,  as  such,  is  at  the  best,  a finite  plea- 
sure ; it  has  none  of  that  savor  of  the  infinite  which  all  true 
and  great  pleasures  must  needs  possess ; but  it  gives  occa- 
sion for  such  pleasures  to  be  developed,  and  hence  becomes 
in  man,  a noble  function.  “ I did  not  calculate  the  gratifi- 
cation of  those  banquets,”  says  Cicero,  by  the  pleasures  of 
the  body,  so  much  as  by  the  meetings  of  friends  and  con- 
versations. Well  did  our  ancestors  style  the  reclining  of 
friends  at  an  entertainment  conviviim,  since  it  carries  with 
it  a union  of  life.”*  How  marled,  again,  in  respect  of  the 
instinct  of  propagation  ! The  brute  fulfills  the  physical  end, 
and  ceases  there ; man  goes  further, — he  loves,  and  becomes 
human  in  proportion  as  he  loves  honorably  and  faithfully. 
Mere  animal  love  is  a very  low  pleasure ; were  he  incapable 
of  any  higher,  man  would  never  have  become  even  civilized. 

Happily  directed  and  controlled,”  says  Feuchsterleben, 
“love  is  the  artist  of  the  most  exquisite  spiritual  develop- 
ments that  human  nature  is  susceptible  of;  whereas  he  mIio 


* De  Senectute,  Cap.  13. 


INSTINCT  OF  LOVE  OF  HOME. 


527 


never  loves,  becomes  egotistical,  mean,  narrow-minded, 
covetous,  and  but  too  often,  an  unnatural  sensualist. So 
with  the  instincts  of  conjugal  fidelity,  love  to  offspring,  and 
that  exalted  and  beautiful  one,  the  love  of  Home.  They 
lead  brute  and  man  alike  into  states  of  physical  well-being ; 
in  man,  when  properly  developed,  they  are  seeds  no  less  of 
moral,  intellectual,  and  even  religious  welfare.  How  many 
blissful  emotions  arise  out  of  the  instinct  of  Home  ! The 
bird  seeks  its  nest  simply  for  shelter ; man,  after  the  toils  of 
the  day,  goes  homeward,  not  merely  to  sup  and  rest  himself 
but  to  feel  in  the  bosom  of  affection,  and  in  the  sweet  prattle 
of  his  little  flock,  that  to  him  it  is  still  the  Golden  Age.  “ To 
Adam  and  Eve  Paradise  was  home ; to  the  virtuous  among 
their  descendants  home  is  Paradise.”  Many  things  which 
appear  to  belong  to  the  spiritual  degree  of  life,  are  thus,  in 
reality,  only  high  developments  of  the  Instinctive.  To  dis- 
tinguish between  the  two,  we  have  but  to  ask  concerning  any 
particular  faculty.  Is  it  possessed  both  by  man  and  animal? 
Plowever  lustrously  a given  faculty  may  shine  in  man,  if  we 
find  it  anywhere  among  the  brutes,  it  is  still  no  more  than  a 
part  of  the  instinctive  life.  ‘‘We  may  rest  assured,”  says 
Sidney  Smith,  “ that  whatever  principles  in  the  shape  of  in- 
stincts are  given  to  animals  for  their  preservation  and  pro- 
tection, are  also  instincts  in  man ; and  that  what  in  them  is 
a propensity  or  desire,  is  not  in  him  anything  else.”*  Should 
we  be  at  a loss  to  know  whether  a given  faculty  be  thus 
shared,  the  place  of  its  origin  and  its  nature  are  determina- 
ble by  its  End.  F or  it  is  not  in  working  for  a purpose ; not 
in  the  mere  contemplation  of  results,  and  adjusting  things 
thereto ; not  even  in  the  perception  of  cause  and  efiTect, — 
that  man  differs  from  the  brute; — it  is  in  working  for  a 


* Principles  of  Phrenology,  p.  123. 


528  HUMAN  INSTINCT  EXPANSIVE  AND  CUMULATIVE. 

purpose  having  relation  to  the  spiritual  and  immortal,  and 
in  contemplating  causes  and  issues  that  lie  altogether  be- 
yond the  reach  and  bearing  of  the  physical.  Every  instinct, 
however,  in  ma?^,  prefigures  and  presignifies  a sentiment  be- 
longing to  the  spiritual  life.  Amativeness,  for  example,  the 
seat  of  which  is  the  (common  to  all  living  creatures,) 

is  found  over  again  in  the  tzveujki  (which  man  alone  pos- 
sesses,) in  the  shape  of  siiiritual  and  unscnsuous  love.  It  is 
the  same  idea,  moulded  on  a higher  type.  The  correspon- 
dence between  our  higher  and  lower  nature  is  one  of  the 
most  wonderful  features  of  our  humanity.  Every  man  who 
will  watch  himself,  may  see  his  animal,  sensuous,  external 
manhood,  duplicated  within,  in  higher  workmanship. 

298.  Instinct,  in  man,  is  not  only  applied  to  higher  pur- 
poses ; it  is  expansive  and  cumulative.  These,  indeed,  are 
the  characters  by  which  it  is  peculiarly  distinguished  from 
the  instinct  of  brutes,  which  remains  the  same  from  age  to 
age,  as  expressed  in  every  attempt  at  definition.  Why  thus 
expansive,  will  appear  when  we  consider  the  especial  pro- 
vince of  the  instinctive  life  with  regard  to  the  spiritual. 
Though  the  former  may  exist  without  the  latter,  as  happens 
with  brutes,  it  is  impossible  for  the  spiritual  life  to  exist 
without  the  instinctive.  What  sustains  us  and  preserves  us 
as  animals  (which  we  must  needs  be  if  we  are  to  be  meii),  is 
essentially  Instinct — not  reason.  The  latter  is  the  source 
of  all  our  highest  enjoyments,  as  human  beings;  it  is  the 
instrument  also  of  our  progression,  but  it  is  by  instinct  that 
we  are  rendered  capable  of  becoming  human  beings.  The 
basis  of  humanity  is  animalism,  Man  lives  before  he  thinks; 
he  eats  before  he  reasons ; he  is  social  before  he  is  civilized ; 
loves  even  against  reason,  and  becomes  a Nimrod  long  be- 
fore he  is  a Nestor.”  As  the  ground  on  which  his  spiritual 
nature  is  based,  the  instinctive  faculties  of  man  are  made 
capable  of  a corresponding  and  adequate  expansiveness. 


I 


HIGHER  PRINCIPLES  ENNOBLE  THE  LOWER.  529 


Throughout  the  universe  it  is  a law  that  higher  principles 
shall  descend  into  the  next  inferior,  infusing  into  them  a 
dignity  and  excellence  which  is  neither  native  to  them,  nor 
attainable,  except  by  communication  from  above;  God  gives 
first  effect  to  it  by  imparting  his  glory  to  his  nearest  image, 
“crowning”  him  with  his  divine  “majesty  and  honor;” — 
all  things  in  their  turn  pour  a largess  of  their  nobler  nature 
on  those  beneath*  Reason,  under  this  great  law,  impreg- 
nates and  ennobles  instinct;  the  instinctive  life  similarly 
descends  into  the  inanimate  world,  so  far  as  the  latter  is 
competent  to  receive  it.  “ Of  the  qualities,”  says  Philo, 
“ which  the  soul  has  received  from  God,  it  gives  a share  to 
the  irrational  portion  of  our  nature,  so  that  the  mind  is  vi- 
vified by  God,  and  the  irrational  part  by  the  mind.”  The 
spiritual  life  can  only  expand  by  having  a plane  beneath  it 
on  which  to  rest ; this  plane  is  furnished  by  the  instinctive 
life,  every  enlargement  of  which  in  power  and  empire  offers 
so  much  new  scope  and  opportunity  to  the  soul.  The  lower 
animals  have  no  spiritual  life  thus  to  grow  and  dilate  in 
them ; their  powers,  therefore,  instead  of  being  expansive,  are 
determinate.  They  work,  but  only  within  the  confines  of 
their  little  circles,  and  after  a thousand  years’  employ,  are 
still  where  they  began.  In  man  on  the  other  hand,  by  vir- 
tue of  the  inflowing  spiritual  life,  they  are  capable  of  indefi- 
nite extension,  and  grow  and  spread  like  watered  trees. 
Every  year  sees  some  new  application  of  them,  and  the 
fruits  of  their  exercises  fill  the  earth.  Nothing  so  plainly 
distinguishes  between  man  and  brutes  as  the  absolute  no- 
thingness of  effect  in  the  work  of  the  latter.  Unless  the 
coral-islands  be  esteemed  an  exception,  of  all  the  past  la- 
bors of  all  the  animals  that  ever  existed,  there  is  not  a trace 
extant:  we  see  only  what  is  accomplished  by  the  individuals 
contemporaneous  with  ourselves. 


45 


X 


530 


INSTINCT  AND  INTELLIGENCE. 


299.  Instinct,  being  thus  co-ordinate  with  Life,  comprises 
not  only  vitality,”  and  the  unconscious  external  acts  ordi- 
narily intended  by  the  term — it  is  the  inmost  principle  also 
of  a large  part  of  Intelligence,  namely,  all  such  intelligence, 
whether  susceptible  of  cultivation  or  otherwise,  as  is  applied 
to  the  effectuation  of  physical  good.  It  is  a higher  type  of 
intelligence  which  seeks  spiritual  good.  Intelligence,  so  far 
as  it  relates  to  material  well-being,  is  not  a distinct  faculty ; 
it  is  referable  to  the  instinctive  life,  equally  in  brutes  and 
mankind.  It  is  quite  a mistake  to  suppose  that  instinct  has 
nothing  of  intelligence  connected  with  it — that  it  is  uni- 
formly and  necessarily  blind.  Often  it  may  be  so,  and  in 
brutes  perhaps  it  is  the  rule,  but  there  are  no  tribes  of  crea- 
tures in  which  intelligence  is  not  largely  and  most  evidently 
exhibited,  over  and  above  their  unconscious  sj^ill.  The 
books  upon  instinct  undeniably  establish  this.  Many  ani- 
mals,” Spurzheim  remarks,  modify  their  actions  according 
to  external  circumstances ; they  even  select  one  among  dif- 
ferent motives.  A dog  may  be  hungry,  but  with  the  oppor- 
tunity he  will  not  eat,  because  he  remembers  the  blows  he 
has  received  for  having  done  so  under  similar  circum- 
stances.”* All  the  best  writers  on  instinct  concur  in  this 
opinion.  “ One  might  as  well  call  all  the  actions  of  man 
rational,”  says  the  author  of  the  Natural  History  of  Enthu- 
siasm, “ as  all  of  the  inferior,  instinctive.”  Sir  Benjamin 
Brodie,  in  his  interesting  “Psychological  Inquiries,”  ex- 
presses his  conviction  that  “ if  we  study  the  habits  of  ani- 
mals, we  cannot  doubt  that  there  are  many  which,  however 
much  they  are  dependent  on  their  instincts,  also  by 

experience,  though  in  a less  degree  than  man.”  Old  brutes 


Philosophical  Principles  of  Phrenology,  p.  3. 


MEMORY. 


581 


are  more  cunning  than  young  ones.  An  experienced  fox 
difters  materially  from  a novice  in  the  chase ; he  foresees 
many  snares,  and  endeavors  to  avoid  them.  We  must  re- 
member, further,  that  brutes  in  all  probability  have  much 
more  intelligence  than  we  can  become  aware  of,  from  their 
want  of  words,  from  our  own  inattention,  and  from  our  ig- 
norance of  the  import  of  the  symbols  which  they  use  in 
giving  intimations  to  one  another  and  to  ourselves.  In 
short,  neither  is  intelligence  to  be  attributed  to  man  as  his 
prerogative,  nor  is  the  brute  to  be  defined  as  a being  of  in- 
variably unconscious  impulse.  It  is  important  to  observe, 
however,  that  the  understanding  of  brutes  is  affected  solely 
through  external  or  sensational  stimuli.  Human  intelli- 
gence having  reference  to  physical  things,  may  be  excited 
either  by  these  or  by  the  interior  intelligence  of  the  soul : 
intelligent  acts  are  performed  by  brutes,  on  the  other  hand, 
only  when  the  external,  sensational  stimulus  which  first 
called  them  forth,  again  affects  the  creature,  and  in  precisely 
the  same  manner.  That  is  to  §ay,  while  Reason,  or  the  in- 
telligence of  the  spiritual  life,  may  operate  independently 
of  external  stimuli — after  it  has  once  been  excited  by 
them — and  does  not  require  the  aid  of  the  external  senses ; 
the  activity  of  the  intelligence  of  brutes  depends  for  its  ex- 
citation always  and  wholly  upon  such  stimuli.  This  is  par- 
ticularly observable  in  acts  where  memory  is  concerned. 
Memory,  in  the  true  idea  of  it,  is  a faculty  of  the  spiritual 
life,  and  can  be  exercised  without  any  external  or  sensa- 
tional stimulus — we  lie  quietly  on  our  pillows,  and  in  the 
dead  of  night  can  reproduce  what  we  choose.  Brutes  have 
no  such  power ; they  remember  only  through  the  medium 
of  an  outward  sense — the  dog,  for  instance,  largely  through 
the  sense  of  smell.  It  is  true  that  dogs  betoken  memory 
in  dreams^  as  long  ago  described  in  the  verses  of  Lu- 


532 


MEN  ALONE  REMEMBER  PRINCIPLES. 


cretins,*  but  as  this  is  clearly  a recollection  of  mere  events, 
in  no  way  involving  memory  of  principleSy  there  can  be 
little  doubt  that  it  is  susceptible  of  the  same  physiologi- 
cal explanation  as  bears  upon  their  waking  acts.  Men 
alone  remember  principles ; brutes  simply  remember  circum- 
stances. In  the  former,  memory  is  a spiritual  function,  and 
involves  a complication  of  ideas ; in  the  latter  it  belongs  to 
the  instinctive  life,  and  refers  but  to  a single  impression. 
Other  acts  of  memory  in  brutes  which  appear  at  first  sight 
difficult  to  reconcile  with  the  principle  of  external  stimulus, 
such  as  the  return  of  bees  to  the  hive,  and  of  migratory 
birds  to  their  native  countries,  though  problems  to-day,  are 
referable,  without  doubt,  to  the  same  origin  as  the  dreams 
of  the  hounds.  “ Exceptions  of  this  sort,’’  it  is  well  re- 
marked by  Dr.  Martyn  Paine,  ‘‘  are  but  few,  and  if  they  be 
admitted  to  surpass  our  present  knowledge,  the  probability 
will  be  allowed,  through  the  weight  of  analogies,  that  even 
these  problems  will  be  seen  to  be  related  to  the  common 
physiological  laws  which  rijje  the  instinctive  principle  in  its 
ordinary  operations,  and  more  especially  so  as  they  refer,  in 
common  with  the  rest,  to  the  wants  of  organic  life.”f  It  is 
precisely  the  same  with  those  g^^as^-intelligent  acts  which 
are  induced  in  certain  animals  by  training — the  various 
tricks,  for  example,  which  the  elephant  and  the  monkey  are 
taught  to  play.  Unlike  genuine  intelligence,  or  the  facul- 
ties of  the  spiritual  life,  the  superinduced  conditions  of  the 
instinctive  are  never  awakened  except  under  the  stimuli 


* Venantumque  canes  in  molli  ssepe  quiete 
Jactant  crura  tamen  subito,  &c. 

De  Rerum  Natura,  iv.  988-1004. 

f A Discourse  on  the  Soul  and  Instinct,  physiologically  distin- 
guished from  Materialism:  New  York,  1849.  A very  valuable  little 
Essay. 


MORAL  sense”  IN  BRUTES.  533 

which  originally  promoted  them,  and  then  only  in  direct 
relation  with  those  stimuli.  So,  too,  with  what  some  au- 
thors call  the  “moral  sense’’  of  animals.  Man  alone  has  a 
moral  sense,  justly  so  called,  seeing  that  it  can  only  exist 
where  there  is  a spiritual  organism  competent  to  receive  the 
knowledge  of  God.  The  dog,  for  instance,  is  sometimes  said 
to  act  from  conscience — that  it  “ manifests  a sense  of  wrong 
when  it  surprises  the  game  in  a manner  opposed  to  its  in- 
structions, or  does  any  other  analogous  acts.  But  this  ma- 
nifestation happens  only  under  the  influence  of  those  physi- 
cal causes  which  lead  the  creature  to  act  more  habitually  in 
a different  manner.  The  sense  of  wrong  does  not  originate 
from  the  act,  or  on  account  of  the  act,  but  is  inspired  by 
the  presence  of  the  creature’s  master,  whom  it  associates 
with  the  suffering  which  it  endured  when  its  instinct  was 
undergoing  discipline.”*  In  thus  recognizing  the  intelli- 
gence of  brutes,  we  may  seem  to  be  advancing  the  very  doc- 
trine above  repudiated, that  “instinct”  is  “less  reason,”  and 
“reason”  “more  instinct.”  Not  so.  The  term  Eeason,  as 
commonly  used,  includes  intelligence  both  as  to  physical 
ends  and  as  to  spiritual  ones.  With  the  former  kind,  in- 
stinct undoubtedly  is  identical,  passing  into  it  by  degrees  of 
Continuity;  but  from  the  latter  it  is  separated  by  a Discrete 
degree,  and  is  therefore  absolutely  distinct. 

300.  It  is  easy  to  see  that  much  of  what  is  popularly 
called  “Reason”  was  in  its  first  exercise  purely  instinct. 
Long  experience  has  thrown  the  early  history  of  human 
usages  so  remotely  to  the  rear,  and  we  are  naturally  so 
prone  to  ascribe  everything  that  is  wise  and  good  to  “ Rea- 
son,”— as  though  we  were  too  proud  or  too  selfish  to  allow 


* A Discourse  on  tlie  Soul  and  Instinct,  physiologically  distin- 
guished from  Materialism:  New  York,  1849,  p.  112. 

45 


534 


INSTINCT  STIPERSEDET)  RY  REASON. 


that  the  inferior  animals  have  anytliing  in  common  with 
us, — that  Instinct  not  only  goes  without  its  fair  share  of 
credit,  in  our  estimate  of  human  nature,  but  is  well-nigh 
ignored.  In  the  infancy  of  our  race,  thousands  of  the  acts 
which  we  now  ascribe  to  Reason,  must  unquestionably  have 
been  impulses  of  instinct;  destitute  of  the  experience  which 
now  guides  us,  the  first  members  of  mankind  must  have 
proceeded,  in  innumerable  cases,  as  the  brutes  do  still;  as 
experience  accumulated,  the  instinctive  procedures  would 
gradually  be  suj)erseded  by  thoughtful  ones,  and  eventually 
they  would  come  to  be  regarded  as  purely  rational.  The 
selection  of  food,  for  instance,  must  originally  have  been  de- 
termined by  an  instinct  in  no  respect  different  from  that 
which  leads  the  living  brute  to  eat  what  is  good  for  it,  and 
to  reject  the  unwholesome  and  the  poisonous.  Now,  men 
may  exercise  their  reason  on  the  choice  of  new  edibles;  they 
have  plenty  of  experience  to  proceed  upon;  but  if  instinct 
had  not  directed  them  at  the  first,  while  deliberating  what 
to  eat,  they  would  have  starved.  All  arts  and  sciences  may 
be  referred  back  to  simple  instincts  of  the  same  character; 
— instincts  having  physical  welfare  for  their  End,  and  excited 
by  sensational  stimuli;  their  expansion  and  enrichment,  as 
time  has  rolled  along,  they  owe  to  the  descending  of  the 
spiritual  life  on  to  the  plane  where  they  begin.  Brutes 
have  neither  art  nor  science,  because  although  they  have 
instincts,  they  have  no  spiritual  life  to  fertilize  them. 
This  latter  is  the  reason  also  why  the  instincts  of  brutes 
are  made  to  work  with  such  admirable  precision  from  the 
very  moment  of  birth.  As  they  have  nothing  further  to 
receive,  they  are  made  perfect  at  the  outset. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

S TTMMAIt  T,—INSPinA  TION, 

301.  If  there  be  any  coherence  and  validity  in  the  rea- 
sonings contained  in  the  foregoing  pages,  the  conclusion 
must  needs  be  that  everything  of  which  human  intelligence 
is  cognizant,  whether  animate  or  inanimate,  material  or 
spiritual,  depends  on  the  personal  support  of  the  Creator, 
and  that  Life  is  One  and  Omnipresent ; in  other  words,  that 
God  is  the  supra-natural  ground  of  all  phenomena,  whether 
physical,  physiological,  or  intellectual;  and  that  all  begin- 
nings and  endings  are  displays  of  his  divine  life  in  opera- 
tion;—life  which  flowing  continuously  into  his  creation, 
never  begins  or  ends,  but  always  is.  “Natural  laws”  there 
are,  plentiful  and  amazing,  through  which  his  Divine  wills 
are  effectuated,  but  God  is  the  great  mover  and  upholder 
of  those  laws;  there  are  no  laws  independently  of  Him,  and 
all  things  are  sustained  by  law.  He  who  said  “I  bring  a 
cloud  over  the  earth,”  teaches  us  thereby  that  he  is  the  direct 
and  personal  agent  in  all  natural  phenomena,  however  slight 
and  apparently  casual  they  may  be,  no  less  than  in  all 
spiritual  phenomena.  “ Even  the  blind  heathen  named  their 
supreme  deity  ‘cloud-driving  Jupiter;’  and  shall  not  we,  thus 
taught  by  God  himself,  still  more  explicitly  and  reverently 
own  the  living  Jehovah,  the  God  in  whom  we  live,  and  move 
and  have  our  being,  as  the  Creator  of  every  cloud  that  flings 
its  shadow  over  earth?  We  own  him  in  the  uproar  of  the 
tempest;  let  us  own  him  in  the  stillness  of  the  calm.  We 

535 


536 


ALL  KNOWLEDGE  DERIVED. 


own  him  in  the  huge  billow;  let  us  own  him  in  the  ripj)le 
that  sinks  quietly  to  rest  upon  the  strand.  We  own  him  in 
the  whirlwind ; let  us  own  him  in  the  placid  breeze  of  even- 
ing.’’ It  is  no  trifling  source  of  pleasure  thus  to  recog- 
nize the  Creator  in  the  ordinary  occurrences  of  the  world. 
It  sweetens  every  moment  of  our  time;  unites  us  delight- 
fully to  the  beauties  of  nature;  and  associates  us  with  its 
varied  objects  as  with  so  many  friends  and  companions. 

302.  Viewed  in  this  way,  the  whole  earth  is  a scene  of 
Inspiration, — inspiration  of  sustaining  and  directing  force, 
as  regjjirds  its  objects  and  physical  phenomena,  and  of  the 
power  of  thought  and  feeling  as  regards  the  soul.  Life  and 
Inspiration,  in  fact,  go  together.  Inspiration  is  literally 
“breathing  into;”  Life  is  that  which  is  inbreathed.  Man 
could  neither  think  nor  feel  were  he  not  a subject  of  inspira- 
tion ; he  does  nothing  purely  of  himself  except  choose.  It  is 
permitted  him  to  elect  by  his  free-will  what  things  he  will 
love  and  seek  to  possess,  but  all  the  vitality  which  he  brings 
to  bear  upon  the  acquisition  of  those  things,  all  the  efforts 
which  he  makes  in  connection  with  the  object  of  his  love, 
have  their  well-spring  and  maintenance  in  God, — 
TlTjYMv^  “the  fountain  of  fountains.”  Every  vessel  that  is 
presented  to  him,  God  fills  with  his  sustaining  life,  leaving 
the  recipient  to  deal  with  it  how  he  will;  whether  it  be  a 
pure  vessel,  or  a foul.  Life  is  poured  into  it  all  the  same; 
the  quality  is  preserved  or  marred  according  to  the  condi- 
tion of  the  receptacle.  Me  talk  of  our  acquiring  know- 
ledge of  what  surrounds  us  by  virtue  of  our  intellect  True. 
W e do  so,  nevertlieless,  only  in  so  far  as  God  first  inspires 
our  intellect.  We  know  nothing  of  a single  object  of  crea- 
tion in  a manner  absolutely  original.  As  finite  things  in 
thciir  very  nature  are  derived,  our  knowledge,  as  finite 
beings,  must  also  be  derivative.  As  the  liglit  of  the  sun 
makes  nature,  which  in  its  absence  is  dark,|;A^sica%  visible; 


INSPIRATION. 


537 


so  the  light  of  heaven  makes  it  intellectually  visible,  and 
without  that  light  we  could  know  nothing  about  it.  Man’s 
physical  eye  does  not  see  by  virtue  of  any  inherent  property, 
but  by  the  aid  of  the  sunbeam ; so  the  intellectual  eye  does 
not  perceive  by  virtue  of  innate  power  to  perceive,  but 
through  that  light  which  “has  come  into  the  world.”  We 
know,  in  short,  just  so  much  of  things  as  God  inspires  us  to 
know ; — a slender  and  fragmentary  knowledge  at  the  best, — 
even  in  its  highest  degree,  mere  opinion,  since  the  real  nature 
of  things  can  only  be  known  by  the  Infinite.  Still,  it  is 
enough  of  them  that  we  know,  being  just  what  is  needful 
to  our  happiness, — the  design  of  the  Almighty  in  all  that  he 
confers. 

303.  Inspiration,  accordingly,  in  its  full  and  essential 
sense,  comprises  every  form  and  every  variety  of  influx 
with  which  the  Creator  animates  and  instructs  mankind. 
To  attribute  it  simply  to  the  “holy  men  of  God”  who 
“spake  as  they  were  moved  by  the  holy  ghost,”  is  a mistake. 
In  the  inspiration  of  Moses,  the  Prophets,  the  Psalmists, 
and  the  Evangelists,  Divine  illumination  is  shown  in  its 
highest  and  immediate  degree,  not  in  its  only  one.  There 
are  as  many  degrees  below  it  as  there  are  grades  of  physical 
structure  beneath  the  consummate  frame  of  man.  God  is 
continually  visiting  the  souls  of  all  human  beings  with  a 
certain  amount  of  inspiration ; awarding  to  every  individual 
the  kind  and  quality  suited  to  his  capacity  and  appointed 
sphere  of  duty,  and  replenishing  him  with  new  supplies, 
according  to  his  needs.  St.  Paul  particularizes  some  of 
these  “diversities  of  operations.”  To  one  is  given  the  word 
of  wisdom,  to  another  the  word  of  knowledge,  to  another 
prophecy,  to  another,  divers  kind  of  tongues,  to  another  the 
interpretation  of  tongues.  Influx  or  inspiration  from  God, 
however,  is  always  in  proportion  to  the  out-pouring  from 
ourselves  of  what  he  entrusts  us  with.  New  inspiration  can 


538 


OUR  BEST  THOUGHTS  FROM  GOD. 


only  enter  us  through  our  communicating  to  our  fellow-men 
the  good  things  we  have  previously  received.  We  must  bless 
them  with  whatever  affection  and  intellect  can  bestow,  if  we 
would  ourselves  be  newly  blessed  by  God.  This  is  what  he 
intended  us  to  learn  from  the  incident  of  the  widow’s  cruse 
of  oil,  which  was  replenished  in  the  degree  tliat  the  contents 
were  poured  away.  Lynch  puts  the  matter  clearly  and  con- 
cisely. ‘‘The  thinking  man,”  he  observes,  “as  another  good 
result  of  his  thouglitfulness,  will  get  to  feel  hoAv  truly  and 
impressively  best  thoughts  and  inward  visions  are  gifts  of 
God.  When  our  ‘views,’  as  we  significantly  say,  are  most 
earnest,  most  solemn,  or  most  beautiful,  we  are  often  con- 
scious of  being  in  a state  rather  than  of  making  an  effort.”* 
Goethe  held  similar  opinions,  as  related  in  his  conversations 
with  Eckermann; — “No  productiveness  of  the  highest  kind, 
no  remarkable  discovery,  no  great  thought  which  bears  fruit 
and  has  results,  is  in  the  power  of  any  one.  Such  things  are 
elevated  above  all  earthly  control;  man  must  consider  them 
as  unexpected  gifts  from  above,  as  pure  children  of  God, 
which  he  must  receive  and  venerate  with  joyful  thanks.” 
All  men  who  closely  watch  their  inner  life  become  conscious 
of  these  high  truths, — at  least  as  that  life  developes.  The 
sign  of  growth  of  the  soul  is  that  it  gradually  loses  confi- 
dence in  its  volitional  reasonings  about  best  and  highest 
things,  and  reposes  trust  rather  in  what  it  feels  to  be  given. 
Though  it  is  our  duty  to  think  and  work  with  all  our  might, 
we  lose  nothing  by  “ tarrying  the  Lord’s  leisure.”  “Newton 
confessed  that  to  his  patience  he  owed  everything.  An 
apple  plucked  from  the  tree  was  the  death  and  ruin  of 
our  race;  an  apple  falling  from  the  tree  told  the  story  of  the 
^itars.” 

304.  It  is  from  the  perception  of  this  universal  and  con- 


Mcmorials  of  Theopliilus  Trinal,  p.  14= 


POETICAL  INSPIRATION. 


539 


slant  influx  from  heaven,  that  we  speak  in  daily  converse 
of  Deing  inspired  with  hope,  inspired  with  courage,  inspired 
with  veneration;  also  of  the  inspiration  of  the  musician, 
the  inspiration  of  the  poet.  For  in  using  such  phrases 
of  course  we  recognize  an  inspirer,  or  we  mean  nothing. 
All  come  from  the  same  source,  and  a single  principle  ex- 
plains every  variety.  The  relation  between  the  inspiration 
of  the  Poet,  justly  so  called,  and  that  of  the  Bible,  is  pe- 
culiarly important.  Before  we  can  properly  understand 
what  biblical  inspiration  is,  it  has  been  well  said,  Ave  must 
understand  what  poetical  inspiration  is.  The  two  things  are 
more  closely  allied  than  many  suppose.  No  intelligent 
reader  of  Scripture  needs  to  be  reminded  that  the  resem- 
blance of  their  Avritten  results  is  most  intimate  and  profound ; 
the  poetic  interpretation  of  nature  stands,  in  fact,  on  a level 
Avith  the  interpretation  of  the  symbolic  language  of  Holy 
Writ.  Philology  goes  no  deeper  than  the  surface ; the  inner 
arcana  belong  to  Poetry,  and  it  is  only  poetical  minds  of  the 
highest  order  that  can  bring  them  forth  in  their  true  colors. 
The  poetry  of  the  Bible  is  one  of  the  features  that  especially 
stamp  its  divine  origin ; it  discloses  the  composition  of  the 
Mind  that  uttered  it ; and  deserves  as  keen  attention  as  its 
simple  doctrines.  If  that  God  were  only  Intellect, — if  there 
Avere  only  a head  shoAvn  in  nature  and  the  Bible,  then  the 
scientific  and  philological  interpretation  AA'Ould  compass  all. 
But  he  is  Love  also.  Therefore  the  Avorld  and  his  Avord  are 
no  less  full  of  heart,  so  that  there  is  endless  poetic  interpre- 
tation needed  likeAvise.  Poetry  Avas  rightly  accounted  in  old 
times  the  language  of  the  gods.  To  vieAV  nature  in  a poetical, 
is  an  approach  toAvards  vicAAung  it  in  a religious,  light.  The 
ancients  expressed  themselves  in  terms  similar  to  our  OAvn, 
with  regard  to  inspiration.  Plomer  describes  his  heroes  as 
‘‘  inspired  with  valor’’  by  their  guardian  deities ; and  in  nar- 
rating the  famous  story  of  Penelope  and  her  web,  piously 


640 


POLYTHEISM. 


makes  her  say  that  her  ingenious  schemes  were  “ breathed 
into  her  by  a god.’’  (Odyssey  xix.  138.)  He  lias  a passage 
also  to  precisely  the  same  purpose  as  St.  Paul’s,  saying  that 
to  one  God  gives  dancing,  to  another  music,  to  another  a 
prudent  mind,  to  another  valor,  &c.  (Iliad  xiii.  727 — 733.) 
Ill  the  8th  Odyssey  he  repeats  it  in  a varied  and  more  ele- 
gant form, — One  man  is  weaker,  but  God  adorns  him  with 
words,  and  he  discourses  with  mild  modesty ; another  in  his 
form  is  like  the  immortals,  but  grace  is  not  set  as  a crown 
around  his  speech.”  (170 — 177.)  Seneca  comments  upon 
inspiration  in  singularly  eloquent  terms.  ‘‘  Without  God,” 
he  observes,  “ there  is  no  great  man.  It  is  lie  who  inspires 
us  with  great  ideas  and  exalted  designs.  When  you  see  a 
man  superior  to  his  passions,  happy  in  adversity,  calm  amid 
surrounding  storms,  can  you  forbear  to  confess  that  these 
qualities  are  too  exalted  to  have  their  origin  in  the  little  in- 
dividual whom  they  ornament?  A god  inhabits  every 
virtuous  man,  and  without  God  there  is  no  virtue.”  (Epis- 
tles, 41,  73.)  The  ‘‘paganism”  and  “polytheism”  of  such 
men  deserves  a milder  judgment  than  is  often  passed  upon 
it.  However  vicious  and  defective  in  some  respects,  it  rested 
on  a pure  and  reverent  religious  feeling,  which  needed  but 
Christianity  to  give  it  a right  direction.  That  which  distin- 
guishes Christianity  from  the  moralism  of  Seneca,  is  not  so 
much  an  absolute  difference  in  the  principles  inculcated,  as 
the  power  which  it  brings,  by  virtue  of  its  immediate  origin, 
to  carry  them  out  practically  in  the  life.  Polytheism,  in- 
deed, regarded  in  its  better  aspect,  was  but  the  designation 
under  many  names,  of  the  one  universal  Father,  just  as  in 
Scripture  the  single  Jehovah  is  styled  the  Mighty  One,  the 
Lion,  the  Shepherd,  and  by  hundreds  of  other  names  in 
turn.  The  more  philosophical  of  the  ancients  were  fully 
alive  to  the  fact  of  such  being  the  veritable  intent  of  their 
theological  doctrines.  “ It  is  of  very  little  consequence,” 


LIFE  IMPARTED,  NOT  CREATED. 


541 


sa3^s  the  author  just  quoted,  ‘‘  by  what  name  you  call  the 
first  Nature,  the  Divine  Reason  that  presides  over  the  uni- 
srerse,  and  fills  all  the  parts  of  it.  He  is  still  the  same  God. 
We  Stoics  sometimes  call  him  Father  Bacchus,  because  he 
is  the  universal  life  that  animates  nature ; sometimes  Mer- 
cury, because  he  is  the  Eternal  Reason,  Order,  and  Wisdom. 
You  may  give  him  as  many  names  as  you  please,  provided 
you  allow  but  one  sole  principle  universally  present.”  {De 
Beneficiis,  Lib.  iv.  cap.  7-8.)  St.  Augustin,  probably  with 
these  passages,  and  similar  ones  in  the  Philosophical  Dis- 
sertations of  Maximus  Tyrius,  (xxix.,  &c.)  before  his 
mind,  puts  the  matter  in  the  same  generous  light.  ‘^It 
was  one  God,”  he  observes,  “the  universal  Creator  and 
Sustainer,  who  in  the  ethereal  spaces  was  called  Jupiter, 
in  the  sea  Neptune,  in  the  sun  Phoebus,  in  the  fire 
Vulcan,  in  the  vintage  Bacchus,  in  the  harvests  Ceres,  in 
the  forests  Diana,  in  the  sciences  Minerva.”  {De  Civ. 
Dei.  iv.  2.) 

305.  Briefly,  then,  and  Anally,  we  must  never  attempt  to 
think  of  Life,  in  any  of  its  manifestations,  apart  from,  or 
independently  of  God.  Life  is  uncreate,  and  wherever  Life 
is.  He  is.  The  same  grand  principles  which  we  find  at  the 
summit  of  creation,  or  in  the  intelligence  of  man,  and  which 
we  acknowledge,  unhesitatingly,  to  be  by  influx  of  the  divine 
life,  are  embodied  in  every  kingdom  below  man,  in  another 
and  humbler  manner ; animals,  plants,  and  minerals  seve- 
rally and  in  turn  presenting  them,  after  the  likeness  of  de- 
scending octaves.  What  are  Intelligence  and  Emotion  in 
the  soul,  reappear,  as  we  descend,  in  the  shape  of  Instinct, 
Vitality,  and  the  physical  properties  of  inanimate  matter; 
the  higher  the  End,  and  thence  the  Form,  the  more  noble  is 
the  presentation ; as  the  dignity  of  the  End  diminishes,  and 
along  with  it  the  grandeur  of  the  form,  so  does  the  intensity 
of  the  life.  With  every  step  in  descent,  there  is  a decline  in 
46 


542 


LIFE.  EPITOMIZED  IN  GENIUS. 


power;  some  energy  ceases,  some  faculty  disappears,  yet  tlic 
essential  principle  runs  the  entire  length,  and  is  found  at 
the  end  as  perfect  as  at  the  beginning.  It  is  by  no  means 
the  same  manifestation  that  we  find.  Each  new  manifesta- 
tion is  lower  than  the  next  above  by  a discrete  degree; 
hence  while  there  are  innumerable  analogies  between  them, 
little  pertains  absolutely  in  common,  save  their  one,  divine 
origination.  The  hardest  to  connect  together  are  doubtless 
the  life  of  the  mineral  and  the  life  of  the  soul.  It  must  be 
done  by  the  intermediate  degrees.-  When  we  reflect  how 
beautifully  the  organizing  life  of  the  body  repeats,  on  its 
lower  plane,  the  organizing  life  of  the  soul,  it  is  not  difficult 
to  see  that  the  operation  of  the  crystalizing  force  in  mine- 
rals is  analogous  to  that  of  the  vital  force  in  plants  and  ani- 
mals,— that  crystalization,  in  fact,  is  mineral  organization. 
Both  in  organic  and  in  inorganic  bodies,  the  atoms  are 
drawn  together  and  disposed  with  unerring  precision,  and 
with  the  most  exquisite  symmetry.  The  lower  physical 
forces  prepare  the  way.  By  attraction,  matter  is  simply 
collected  together, — one  atom  held  to  another,  even  of  the 
most  heterogeneous  kind ; Chemical  Affinity  superadds  to 
attraction,  the  choice  of  particular  atoms,  which  combine 
moreover,  in  definite  proportions ; Crystalization  brings  the 
atoms  thus  held  together  into  fixed  geometrical  solids, 
moulding  them,  as  it  were,  with  the  finger  of  vitality.  The 
correspondence  of  the  life  of  the  soul  with  that  of  the  body 
appears  most  plainly  perhaps  in  what  is  called  Genius. 
Tliat  admirable  and  wondrous  faculty  which  on  the  lowest 
plane  constructs  crystals,  turning  the  opaque  and  grimy 
charcoal  into  chaste  and  lucid  diamond; — which  on  the 
higher  plane  constructs  blood,  and  sap,  and  tissues,  builds 
them  into  organs,  and  then  impels  them  to  achieve  beautiful 
and  useful  works ; — that  same  faculty  reappears  on  the 
highest  or  spiritual  plane,  as  constructive,  formative  Intel- 


ESSENTIAL  CHARACTERISTIC  OF  LIFE. 


543 


lectual  force,  enabling  its  possessor,  with  the  help  of  memory 
as  a handmaid,  to  become  the  poet,  the  sculptor,  or  the 
painter.  The  essential  characteristic  of  Life  is  its  construc- 
tive, organizing  force,  and  this  is  precisely  what  character- 
izes Genius. 


.m:  //A 


r.) 

j»i, , ;•»-•■•_ '4 1 AvW 

^'ji.4'^'  ii-Vh"  I 


.:>-v  '. 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS. 


PART  I. 

While  to  the  poet  and  the  thoughtful  man  the  changes 
of  Times  and  Seasons  are  in  the  highest  degree  beautiful 
and  suggestive,  even  to  the  most  indifferent  and  selfish  they 
are  surrounded  with  an  agreeable  interest.  None  view 
their  progress  without  regard,  however  little  they  may  be 
attracted  by  their  sweet  pictures  and  phenomena,  or  moved 
by  the  amenities  and  wisdom  of  their  ministry.  This  is  be- 
cause the  changes  incidental  to  nature  are,  on  the  one  hand, 
a kind  of  counterpart  or  image  of  the  occurrences  and  vicis- 
situdes of  human  life ; and  on  the  other,  the  circumstances 
by  which  its  business  and  pleasures  are  in  large  measure 
suggested  and  controlled.  The  consummation  of  the  old 
year,  and  the  opening  of  the  new,  brings  with  it,  accord- 
ingly, a fine  significance,  and  a pleasurable  importance. 
So,  in  their  degree,  the  transitions  of  Winter  into  Spring, 
of  Spring  into  Summer,  of  Summer  into  Autumn ; and  so, 
in  their  degree,  the  alternations  of  day  and  night.  The 
longer  the  interval,  the  more  interesting  is  the  change. 

The  close  of  the  year  occupies  the  foremost  place  in  this 
universal  interest,  from  its  completing  a well-defined  and 
comprehensive  cycle  of  natural  mutations.  It  is  by  this 
circumstance  rendered  an  appropriate  epoch  for  the  mea- 
surement of  life  and  being ; and  hence  there  fasten  on  it 
peculiar  momentousness  and  solemnity,  which  remain  inse- 
46  545 


546 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS. 


parably  attached  though  the  season  he  unknown  or  forgot- 
ten. Days  and  nights  follow  too  rapidly  to  serve  such  a 
purpose;  and  the  endings  of  months  and  seasons  are  insuffi- 
ciently distinct,  except  as  regards  Autumn,  which  in  its  ma- 
turity and  fruits  fulfills  the  very  cycle  in  question.  Only  as 
the  result  of  these  mutations  does  the  year  exist.  Were 
there  no  primroses  to  die  with  the  spring,  no  lilies  to  vanish 
with  the  summer;  were  there  not  sequences  of  leaf  and 
flower,  sunshine  and  starlight,  there  would  even  be  no  Time. 
For  Time,  like  Space,  pertains  but  to  the  material  circum- 
ference of  creation,  that  is  to  the  visible  half  of  the  universe, 
and  is  only  ajopreciable  through  its  medium.  It  is  by  ob- 
jective nature  alone  that  the  ideas  both  of  Time  and  Space 
are  furnished,  and  they  are  sustained  in  us  only  so  long  as 
we  are  in  contact  with  it.  The  movements  of  the  heavenly 
bodies  contribute  the  most  exact  and  obvious  data,  because 
expressly  given  “ for  signs,  and  for  seasons,  and  for  days, 
and  for  years.”*  But  the  heavens  are  not  our  only  time- 
piece. Another  is  spread  over  the  surface  of  the  earth  in 
its  living  products.  The  phenomena  connected  with  plants 
and  the  habits  of  the  lower  animals,  constitute  in  themselves 
a complete  system  of  chronometry ; indicating  not  merely 
seasons,  but  even  days  and  hours.  In  the  times  of  the  leaf- 
ing of  trees,  the  blooming  of  flowers,  the  ripening  of  fruits, 
the  appearance  of  insects,  the  singing  and  nest-building  of 


* The  fine  poetic  fancy  of  the  ancients  deified  the  various  divi- 
sions of  time,  and  placed  them  as  attendants  on  the  Sun,  himself  a 
god  of  tlie  highest  rank.  See  the  beautiful  description  in  Ovid^s 
Metamoridioses,  ii.  26-30,  where  they  are  represented  as  standing 
round  his  throne,  and  wearing  the  insignia  proper  to  their  offices 
in  tlie  economy  of  nature.  Hence  come  the  innumerable  allusions 
in  poetry  to  the  Ilours,^^  as  goddesses : — 

^^Tlie  Graces,  and  the  rosy-bosomcd  Ilours.’^ — Milton. 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS. 


547 


birds,  the  departure  and  return  of  the  migratory  kinds, 
and  of  every  other  such  incident  of  unmolested  nature, 
there  is  nothing  chanceful  or  uncertain.  Every  event  tran- 
spires at  a fixed  point  in  the  series  of  changes  it  belongs 
to.  So  precise,  in  particular,  are  the  hours  at  which  differ- 
ent kinds  of  flowers  open,  that  it  is  not  only  possible,  but 
easy  to  form  a “ dial  of  Flora,”  by  planting  them  in  the  or- 
der of  their  expansion.  A very  little  botany  will  enable 
any  one  to  notice,  during  the  early  part  of  the  day,  espe- 
cially before  the  dew  is  off  the  grass,  how  one  flower  antici- 
pates another.  And  not  only  as  to  opening  in  the  morning, 
but  as  to  closing  in  the  afternoon  and  evening.  Nothing  is 
more  pleasant  to  the  lover  of  nature,  than  to  watch  their 
gradual  retirement  to  rest,  and  the  wonderful  diversities  of 
mode  in  which  they  shut  their  petals.  The  curious  coinci- 
dences between  many  of  these  phenomena,  (as  of  certain 
birds  returning  from  their  winter  quarters  at  the  identical 
times  when  certain  flowers  come  into  bloom)  have  an  espe- 
cial interest,  seeing  that  they  not  only  indicate  times,  but 
supply  striking  illustrations  of  the  lovely  sympathies  of  na- 
ture, for  in  nature  there  is  nothing  without  a friend.  Celes- 
tial and  atmospheric  phenomena,  if  they  have  fewer  of  the 
charms  of  variety,  in  their  splendors  compensate  it  tenfold. 
How  beautiful  to  note  the  phases  of  the  moon,  the  chame- 
leon tintings  of  the  sky,  the  traveling  of  the  planets,  and 
the  circling  round  the  pole  of  the  seven  bright  stars  of  the 
sleepless  Bear!  With  what  gladness  and  enthusiasm,  too, 
in  the  cold,  inanimate  winter,  we  view  the  rising  of  Orion, 
and  his  brilliant  quarter  of  the  heavens.  The  cheerlessness 
of  the  earth  is  forgotten  in  the  magnificence  overhead,  and 
we  thank  God  for  unfolding  so  much  glory.  Every  event, 
moreover,  having  its  own  poetical  relations,  at  once  refreshes 
the  heart,  and  places  before  the  mind  some  elegant  item  in 
tlie  innumerable  harmonies  of  the  universe.  In  the  perpe- 


548 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS. 


tual  sparkle  of  the  Bear  is  presented  an  image  of  the  ever- 
wakeful  eyes  of  Providence;  and  in  the  alternate  waxing 
and  waning  of  the  moon,  a beautiful  picture  of  the  oscilla- 
tions in  man’s  fortunes.  Hence  we  find  Plutarch  using  the 
latter  to  describe  the  chequered  life  of  Demetrius ; and 
Dante,  to  pourtray  the  varying  fortunes  of  Florence : — 

E come  volger  del  ciel  della  luna 
Ciiopre  ed  iscuopre  i liti  senza  posa, 

Cosi  fa  di  Fiorenza  la  Fortura. 

{ParadisOf  xvi.,  82-84.) 

(As  the  revolution  of  the  moon^s  heavenly  sphere  hides  and  reveals 
the  strand  unceasingly,  so  fortune  deals  with  Florence.) 

The  regularity  with  which  the  phenomena  of  nature  recur, 
and  their  determinate  and  unvarying  character,  are  ex- 
pressed even  in  many  names.  Spring  is  literally  the  season 
of  growth;  summer  that  of  sunshine;  autumn  (from  augeo) 
that  of  increase  or  fertility;  winter  that  of  the  “windy 
storm  and  tempest.”  All  languages  possess  equivalent 
terms.  “Zif,”  the  name  of  the  second  Hebrew  month,  or 
from  the  new  moon  of  May  to  that  of  June,  signifies  literally, 
“the  splendor  of  flowers.”  “Choreph,”  the  name  for  au- 
tumn, in  the  same  language,  means  “the  gathering  season,” 
or  time  of  harvest  and  fruits.  The  names  given  to  the 
months  by  the  French  Revolutionists  of  1789,  every  one 
will  remember  as  in  deference  to  the  same  instinctive  prin- 
ciple. 

Times,  years,  seasons,  accordingly,  are  not  to  be  esteemed 
a part  of  creation,  but  simply  an  accident  or  result  of  it. 
Our  personal  experiences  concur  with  nature  in  testifying 
this,  for  to  no  two  men  has  time  the  same  duration,  nor  does 
any  individual  reckon  it  always  by  the  same  dial.  To  the 
slotliful,  time  has  the  feet  of  a snail;  to  the  diligent,  the 
wings  of  an  eagle.  Impatience  lengthens,  eiiioyment 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS. 


549 


shortens  it.  The  unhappy  and  desolate  see  nothing  hut 
weary  tedium;  with  the  cheerful  it  glides  like  a stream. 
‘‘The  time/’  says  the  unhappy  poet,  in  his  wretched  exile, 
“goes  so  slowly,  you  would  think  it  was  standing  still.  The 
summer  does  not  shorten  my  nights,  nor  the  winter  my  days. 
Do  the  usual  periods  really  perform  their  wonted  courses? 
Everything  is  protracted  with  my  eyes.”*  How  different 
when  we  are  satisfied  and  glad ! Let  us  go  amid  new  and 
delightful  sceneries,  such  as  vividly  excite  and  animate  us, 
and  when  over,  the  days  seem  to  have  been  hours,  the  weeks 
to  have  been  days.  Let  us  retire  into  the  quiet,  secluded 
sanctuaries  of  thought,  losing  ourselves  in  memory  or  hope, 
and  how  complete  again  is  the  departure  of  all  conception 
of  either  time  or  space.  As  in  Dreamland,  distance  col- 
lapses, and  years  and  life-times  contract  into  a few  shining 
moments.  So,  too,  when  pursuing  occupations  under  the 
influence  of  deep  feeling, — “Jacob  served  seven  years  for 
Rachel,  yet  they  seemed  to  him  but  a few  days,  for  the  love 
he  had  to  her.”  In  Milton,  Eve  beautifully  says  to 
Adam, — 

With  thee  conversing,  I forget  all  time; 

All  seasons,  and  their  change,  all  please  alike. 

Time,  therefore,  as  in  reference  to  material  existence  it 
simply  denotes  change,  in  reference  to  the  spiritual  or  inner 
life,  is  but  another  name  for  emotional  states  or  attitudes. 
The  man  who  not  only  feels  to,  but  actually  does  live  longest, 
in  other  words,  sees  most  time,  is  he  who,  taking  God  for  a 
sweet,  guiding,  and  enveloping  thought,  and  quick  to  read 
Nature,  receives  from  it  the  greatest  number  of  impress^ 
sions. 

Natural  mutations  are  emblems  both  of  the  external  or 


* Ovid.  Tristia,  Book  v..  Elegy  x. 


650 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS. 


corporeal  life,  and  of  the  inner  or  spiritual  life.  And  this 
is  equally  the  case  whether  the  history  of  a year  or  of  a day 
be  taken.  For  nature,  though  she  seems  endlessly  diversi- 
fied, proceeds  on  but  few  methods,  of  which  her  diversities 
are  varied  expressions.  Whatever  department  we  may  se- 
lect, whether  organization,  music,  or  language,  the  pheno- 
mena of  life  or  those  of  insensible  matter,  one  or  two  lead- 
ing ideas  are  all  that  can  be  discriminated.  Not  that  the 
talent  of  nature,  though  great  for  sjiecies,  is  poor  for  genera, 
because  nature,  as  a manifestation  of  the  Infinite,  is  com- 
petent, necessarily,  to  ex2)ress  his  infinite  attributes.  It  is 
that  with  a view  to  presenting  a sublime  and  intelligible 
unity,  such  as  man’s  mind  shall  apprehend  with  profit  and 
delight,  she  better  loves  to  repeat,  over  and  over  again,  a 
few  fixed  and  elegant  designs,  than  to  amaze  and  confound 
with  an  endless  multiplicity.  When,  therefore,  from  the 
outward  exjoression,  we  penetrate  towards  the  interior  idea^ 
it  is  always  to  find  some  old,  familiar  fashion;  and  to  learn 
that  shapes  and  complexions  are  but  liveries  or  costumes 
appropriate  to  their  several  occasions.  The  history  and 
lapse  of  a day  agree,  accordingly,  with  the  history  of  a year, 
of  which  the  day  is  a miniature.  Winter  corresponds  with 
night,  summer  with  noon,  spring  with  morning,  whence  the 
beautiful  phrase  in  1 Sam.  ix.  26,  “the  spring  of  the  day,” 
and  in  Lucretius,  the  equivalent  facies  verna  diei  (i.  10.) 
The  history  of  a life-time  conforms  in  turn  with  both  the  year 
and  the  day,  as  shown  in  our  speaking  of  life’s  morning, 
noon,  and  evening;  of  its  spring,  summer,  autumn,  and 
winter;  its  April,  its  May,  and  its  December.  For  all  or- 
ganized beings  are  but  successions  of  phenomena,  commenc- 
ing, like  the  year,  in  darkness  and  apparent  passivity,  and 
ending  in  surrender  to  the  effacing  fingers  of  decay.  “Even- 
ing,” says  Aristotle,  “has  the  same  relation  to  day  that  old 
age  has  to  life.  Therefore  evening  may  be  called  the  old 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS. 


551 


age  of  the  day,  and  old  age  the  evening  of  life,  or,  as  it  is 
styled  by  Empedocles,  ‘the  setting  of  life.’  ” Nothing  has 
more  jileased  the  poets  than  to  descant  on  the  similitudes  so 
strikingly  displayed,  especially  on  behalf  of  the  four  seasons. 
Ovid,  for  instance,  in  that  extraordinary  catalogue  of  muta- 
tions, the  fifteenth  book  of  the  Metamorphoses;  Young,  in 
the  sixth  book  of  the  Night  Thoughts;  and  Thomson,  at  the 
conclusion  of  his  “Winter:” — 

Behold,  fond  man ! 

See  here  thy  pictured  life ! Pass  some  few  years. 

Thy  flowering  Spring,  thy  Summer’s  ardent  strength. 

Thy  sober  Autumn,  fading  into  age. 

And  pale  concluding  Winter  comes  at  last. 

And  shuts  the  scene. 

Prose  literature  likewise  affords  numerous  allusions  to  these 
analogies.  They  are  a constant  subject  also  with  sculptors 
and  painters,  whose  highest  function  is  faithfully  to  repro- 
duce in  objective  forms  what  the  poetic  faculty  seeks  else- 
where to  delineate  in  words.  The  famous  riddle  of  the 
Sphynx,  the  solution  of  which  by  OEdipus  cost  her  her  life, 
will  occur  to  the  recollection  of  every  one — “ What  animal 
is  that  which  in  the  morning  goes  upon  four  legs,  at  mid-day 
upon  two,  in  the  evening  upon  three?”  On  the  identifica- 
tion of  youth  with  Spring  was  no  doubt  founded  the  ancient 
belief  that  it  was  in  the  Spring  that  the  world  was  created : 
a notion  supported,  among  the  moderns,  by  Stukeley,  in  his 
chapter  called  “Cosmogonia,  or  the  World’s  Birth-day.” 
{Palceographia  Sacra,  p.  44.)  It  needs  no  very  deep  science 
to  perceive  that  if  the  world  were  created  in  any  season,  it 
must  have  been  created  in  all  four,  since  it  is  always  Spring 
somewhere,  always  Summer,  Autumn,  and  Winter,  in  one 
part  of  the  globe  or  another.  If  it  be  intended  merely  to 
assert  that  it  was  Spring  in  the  latitude  where  our  first 
parents  began  their  lives,  then,  perhaps,  the  fancy  may  be 


652 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS. 


allowed.  According  to  Venerable  Bede,  the  question  was 
first  determined  at  a council  held  at  Jerusalem,  about  tlie 
year  200.  After  a learned  discussion,  reported  verbatim,  it. 
is  finally  decided  that  the  world’s  birth-day  was  Sunday, 
April  8th,  or  at  the  vernal  equinox,  and  at  the  full  of  the 
moon!  {Opera,  tom.  2,  pp.  346,  347.  Ed.  Basil,  1563.) 

Dwelling  as  we  do,  in  the  heart  of  the  material  and  fugi- 
tive, it  is  perfectly  natural  that  winter  and  night  should  be 
regarded  as  representative  of  the  last  stage  of  our  existence. 
Yet  their  truest  agreement  is  not  with  decay.  It  is  rather 
with  the  darkness  and  passivity  which  preliminate  life,  and 
out  of  which  life  springs.  Everywhere  in  creation  the  dim 
and  shapeless  is  prior  in  point  of  time.  The  universal  law 
is  that  the  passive  shall  precede  the  active,  ignorance  know- 
ledge, indifference  love.  This  is  why  the  narrative  of  the 
creation  opens  with  saying  that  the  earth  was  without  form 
and  void,  and  darkness  upon  the  face  of  the  deep;  and  why 
among  the  ancients.  Night  was  finely  styled  ‘‘mother  of  all 
things.” 

With  him  enthroned. 

Sat  sable- vested  Night,  eldest  of  things. 

The  cosmogony  of  the  Greeks,  as  given  by  Hesiod,  and  of 
every  ancient  nation  of  which  any  records  survive,  opens 
with  darkness,  out  of  whose  womb  presently  proceeds  light. 
Such  is  the  order  acknowledged,  indeed,  by  all  the  greatest 
poets  who  have  ornamented  the  world.  What  a fine  line  is 
that  in  Mephistopheles’  address  to  Faust,  when  he  first 
introduced  himself, — 

Ein  Tlieil  der  Finstermiss  die  sich  das  Licht  gebar. 

(Part  of  the  darkness  which  brought  forth  Light!) 

If  we  would  observe  a philosophic  order,  winter,  therefore, 
should  stand  first,  not  last,  in  the  scheme  of  the  seasons,  as 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS 


553 


among  the  ancient  Egyptians,  with  whom  harmonies  were  an 
exact  science,  and  who  drew  the  sun  at  the  winter  solstice  as 
an  infant,  at  the  vernal  equinox  as  a youth,  at  the  summer 
solstice  as  a man  of  middle  age,  and  at  the  autumnal  equi- 
nox as  one  in  his  maturity.*  The  other  seasons  would  then 
fall  into  their  rightful  places.  Autumn,  or  the  period  of  ripe- 
ness, crowning  the  noble  annals.  For  autumn,  in  turn,  it  is 
far  less  just  to  regard  as  emblematic  of  bodily  decrepitude, 
than  of  consummation,  maturity  and  riches.  Job  gives  a 
beautiful  example  of  its  legitimate  symbolic  use  when, 
recalling  the  days  of  his  prosperity,  he  denominates  them 
his  (choreph,)  literally,  as  above  mentioned,  his  time  of 
gathering  in  fruits.  The  authorized  version  neutralizes  this 
eloquent  figure  by  translating  it  “ in  the  days  of  my  youthJ’ 
But  that  the  word  here  certainly  signifies  Autumn,  is  plain 
from  the  remainder  of  the  chapter,  even  without  consulting 
its  etymology.  Pindar  uses  Autumn  for  the  perfection  of 
physical  beauty.  (Isth.  2,  5.  Nem.  5,  6.)  Sir  Thomas 
Browne  applies  the  same  name  to  the  Resurrection.  The 
dating  of  the  year  from  a day  in  the  depth  of  winter  is 
itself  a testimony  to  the  true  position  of  the  seasons  in 
question. 

By  virtue  of  the  primitive  relations  which  so  wonderfully 
link  the  spiritual  and  the  material,  the  growth  of  the  year 
has  precisely  the  same  analogies  with  the  development  of 
the  intellect  and  affections,  as  with  the  history  of  the  body. 
Winter  answers  to  their  germ-stage,  summer  to  their  flow- 
ers, autumn  to  their  maturity.  Hence  the  elegant  and  fa- 
miliar metaphors  by  which  the  first  buddings  of  the  intellect 
and  affections  are  called  their  Spring,  The  Greek  poets  not 
infrequently  put  Autumn,  in  like  manner,  for  ripened  intel- 


^ Macrobius,  Saturnalia,  Lib.  1,  cap.  21. 
Y 


47 


554 


IIMES  AND  SEASONS. 


ligence  and  wisdom,  as  ^scliylus,  in  his  tragedy  of  the 
Suppliants.*  Gifted  with  the  sight  of  these  fine  analogies, 
few  things  are  more  delightful  to  the  accomplished  mind 
than  to  note  the  early  primrose  and  anemone,  the  wood-sor- 
rel, and  the  young,  uncurling  ferns.  It  sees  in  them,  and 
in  all  delicate  buds,  the  pictorial  counterparts  of  its  own 
first  steps — images  of  the  pretty  little  flowers  of  fancy  and 
afiection  put  forth  from  the  heart  of  a child.  The  same  cir- 
cumstances originate  an  important  part  of  the  pleasure  with 
which  the  mind  regards  the  verdure  of  trees  newly-leafed, 
the  activities  and  the  music  of  birds,  and  the  thousand  other 
fair  conditions  of  the  year  in  its  adolescence.  It  sees  re- 
flected in  them  its  own  felt  progress.  In  that  perfect  sea 
of  rich  poetry,  Festus,’’  both  the  physical  and  the  spiritual 
symbolism  of  the  year  are  given  in  a single  passage : — 

We  women  have  four  seasons,  like  the  year. 

Our  spring  is  in  our  lightsome,  girlish  days. 

When  the  heart  laughs  within  us  for  sheer  joy. 

Summer  is  when  we  love  and  are  beloved  ; 

Autumn  w^hen  some  young  thing  with  tiny  hands. 

And  rosy  cheeks,  and  flossy,  tendrilled  locks, 

Is  wantoning  about  us  day  and  night. 

And  Winter  is  when  those  we  loved  have  perished. 

For  the  heart  ices  then. 

Some  miss  one  season,  some  another ; this 
Shall  have  them  early ; and  that,  late. 

The  soul,  as  it  quickens  towards  God  (which  is  quite  a 
different  thing  from  growth  in  the  loves  and  intellectualities 
of  the  simply  secular  life),  similarly  views  itself  reflected 
wherever  the  vernal  is  gushing  forth,  and  loves  to  think 
how  profound  is  the  dependence  on  Flim  who  changeth 
the  times  and  the  seasons,  who  giveth  wisdom  to  the  wise, 


998,  1015. 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS. 


555 


and  revealeth  the  deep  and  secret  things.”  A more  com- 
plete and  admirable  image  than  is  here  presented,  it  would 
be  difficult  to  find.  For  like  the  seeds  and  roots  which  lie 
hidden  in  the  cold,  bare  earth  during  winter,  full  of  splen- 
did capacity  and  life,  are  the  latent  desires  in  the  una- 
wakened soul  for  what  is  good  and  heavenly,  inherited  from 
the  golden  age ; and  when  once  quickened,  nothing  can  re- 
press their  energy,  or  forbid  their  shooting  into  a luxuriant 
and  flowery  vesture  for  the  surface  late  so  naked.  We 
should  never  desire  to  be  regenerated  were  it  not  for  the  re- 
mains of  original  innocence,  which  thus  repose,  like  sleeping 
angels,  in  our  hearts.  Martineau  appropriately  opens  his 
beautiful  book,  Endeavors  after  the  Christian  Life,”  with 
sketching  this  truest  spring-time  of  the  soul,  this  beginning 
of  its  real,  productive  life.  “ The  thoughts  which  constitute 
religion  are  too  vast  and  solemn  to  remain  subordinate. 
They  are  germs  of  a growth  which,  with  true  nurture,  must 
burst  into  independent  life,  and  overspread  the  whole  soul. 
When  the  mind,  beginning  to  be  busy  for  itself,  ponders  the 
ideas  of  the  infinite  and  eternal,  it  detects,  as  if  by  sudden 
inspiration,  the  immensity  of  the  relations  which  it  bears  to 
God  and  immortality.  The  old  formulas  of  religious  in- 
struction break  their  husk,  and  give  forth  the  seeds  of  won- 
der and  of  love.  Everything  that  before  seemed  great  and 
worthy  is  dwarfed ; and  secular  affinities  sink  into  nothing- 
ness compared  with  the  heavenly  world  which  has  been  dis- 
covered. There  is  a period  when  earnest  spirits  become 
thus  possessed ; disposed  to  contrast  the  grandeur  of  their 
new  ideal  with  the  littleness  of  all  that  is  actual,  and  to  look 
with  a sublimated  feeling,  which  in  harsher  natures  passes 
into  contempt,  on  pursuits  and  relations  once  sufficient  for 
the  heart’s  reverence.”  ‘‘  Pray  that  your  flight  be  not  in 
the  winter, means  before  the  frosts  of  indifiTerence  to  God 
have  melted.” 


556 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS. 


The  sequence  of  morning  to  night  pourtrays  precisely  the 
same  facts,  because  each  perfect  and  independent  day  of 
twenty-four  hours  is  a year  in  little,  and  therefore  the  ana- 
logue of  the  entire  spiritual  history.  We  speak,  accord- 
ingly, of  the  night  of  ignorance,  the  night  of  superstition, 
the  dawn  of  reason,  the  dawn  of  the  understanding.  Hence, 
too,  the  innumerable  beautiful  figures  in  which  these  things 
are  spoken  of  under  the  equivalent  names  of  “ darkness  ” 
and  ‘‘  light.”  As  with  the  transition  from  ignorance  into 
knowledge,  so  with  the  nobler  progress  which  introduces  us 
to  God.  Before  we  know  him,  it  is  night,  afterwards  it  is 
morning  and  day.  It  is  in  the  night  that  he  comes  to  us, 
just  as  it  is  during  the  night  of  nature  that  the  sun  ap- 
proaches (for  it  is  not  morning  till  he  is  risen),  whence  the 
beautiful  figure  in  the  parable,  that  the  cry  of  the  bride- 
groom’s coming  is  heard  at  “ midnight.”  It  was  for  tht 
same  reason  that  the  angels  announced  the  nativity  to  the 
shepherds  by  night  rather  than  by  day — a ministry  sweetly 
renewed,  with  all  its  heavenly  light  and  music,  wherever 
the  ‘‘flocks”  of  the  heart  are  seen  to  be  watched  and 
cherished. 

To  the  same  class  of  facts  belong  the  circumstances  of  our 
Lord  being  born  into  the  material  world  in  the  depth  of 
winter ; and  of  the  crucifixion  taking  place  during  chilly, 
wintry  weather,  as  shown  by  the  people  kindling  a fire  and 
warming  themselves.  These  are  not  mere  accidents  in  the 
history,  but  representative  occurrences  inseparably  con- 
nected with  the  spiritual  ones  they  accompany.  In  several 
ancient  languages  the  name  of  God  is  literally  “ light,”  or 
“ morning.”  Such  is  the  case  with  the  Greek  0soc  and  the 
Latin  Deus  (whence  the  French  Dieu,  and  our  own  word 
Deity, ^ both  of  which,  together  with  the  name  of  the  old  In- 
dian god  Dyaus,  rest  on  the  Sanscrit  root  div,  to  shine  or 
irradiate.  The  Greek  Zeut;  and  the  Latin  J'l^-piter  are  from 


TIMES  AND  SEASON^. 


557 


the  same  source,  by  permutation  of  sounds,  as  shown  by  the 
inflections  AcFo^y  Jovis,  &g.,  and  by  the  derivatives  divum 
(whence  divine  and  divinity)  and  dies,  the  day,  literally  the 
shining.’’  Jupiter,  and  the  equivalent  Diespater,  Diespiter, 
signify,  literally,  ‘^father  of  light.”  With  the  same  root  are 
doubtless  connected  the  Celtic  di,  dian,  and  the  Anglo-Saxon 
dcegan,  whence  our  current  daw7i  and  day. 

But  more  than  one  such  day  is  needful  to  regenerate  a 
man.  He  must  go  through  many  successive  stages,  intro- 
duced to  one  day  after  another,  through  the  medium  of 
many  nights  of  labor  and  struggle.  And  that  we  may  be 
familiarized  with  it  from  the  first,  this  is  just  what  is 
depicted  at  the  very  entrance  to  God’s  Word.  In  their 
‘‘evenings  and  mornings,”  and  the  accompanying  serial 
creations,  the  opening  verses  of  Genesis  sublimely  picture 
the  development  of  the  various  emotions  and  perceptions 
proper  to  the  Christian  character,  which  gradually  open 
out,  like  the  days  of  a week.  For  there  are  no  leaps  in  the 
history  of  spiritual  progress, — no  violent  transitions.  There 
can  be  no  seventh  day’s  rest  in  heaven  without  six  preceding 
ones  of  work,  which  every  man  must  perform  for  himself,  at 
God’s  suggestion,  and  with  God’s  help.  “Let  there  be 
light”  is  only  the  introductory  act, — the  showing  the  way. 
At  first  man  is  not  conscious  how  much  is  needed  of  him. 
It  seems  sufficient  that  light  has  broken.  He  knows  not 
how  bare  and  desolate  is  his  heart,  nor  that,  until  a third, 
and  a fourth,  and  a fifth  day  shall  have  clothed  it  with 
spiritual  counterparts  of  the  “living  creatures,”  the  “grass,” 
the  “herbs,”  and  the  “fruit-trees,”  it  will  be  only  a desert, 
and  can  neither  “rejoice”  nor  “blossom  as  the  rose.”  Of 
such  a course  of  developments,  accordingly,  growth  in  religion 
is  made  uj),  each  stage  having  its  own  evening  and  morning, 
just  as  each  year  of  life  has  its  winter  and  summer.  For 
“evening”  here  signifies,  not  the  twilight  of  a day  that  is 
47  * 


558 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS. 


past,  but  the  whole  of  the  dark  portion  of  the  twenty-four 
hours,  and  ‘'morning”  the  whole  of  the  light  portion.  The 
two  together  make  up  a complete  period  in  the  history,  just 
as  a night  and  a day  combined,  (the  latter  dating  from 
midnight,)  make  up  each  of  the  three  hundred  and  sixty-five 
“days”  of  the  solar  year. 

The  creation  of  man  comes  last,  because  it  is  not  until 
such  a series  of  developments  has  taken  place,  that  the 
intellect  and  afiections  attain  that  upright  and  noble  attitude 
in  reference  to  God,  which  constitutes  genuine  manliness. 


PART  II. 

Times  and  seasons  correspond  with  the  life  of  man  in  a 
twofold  manner.  First,  there  is  the  image  of  his  gradual 
development,  both  as  to  body  and  soul,  presented,  as  above 
described,  in  each  complete  and  independent  year  and  day. 
Secondly,  there  is  the  image  of  his  innumerable  changes  and 
vicissitudes,  presented  in  the  varied  qualities  and  occurrences 
of  seasons,  days,  and  hours  in  general.  For  as  with  winter 
and  summer,  light  and  darkness,  heat  and  cold,  rain  and 
sunshine,  clouds  and  azure,  music  and  silence, — for  even  the 
wind  and  the  waters  are  still  at  times, — so  with  health  and 
sickness,  hunger  and  content,  fatigue  and  vigor;  no  state  or 
condition  is  lasting.  Down  even  to  the  minute  and  secret 
phenomena  of  what  the  physiologists  call  molecular  death,” 
namely,  the  continual  decay  and  replacement  of  the  animal 
tissues.  Change  is  the  universal  condition  of  existence.  And 
while  so  marked  a feature  of  the  inanimate  w^orld,  and  of 
the  animal  life,  infinitely  more  true  of  the  soul,  because  of 
its  infinitely  higher  capabilities  and  senses.  At  one  moment 
buoyant  with  hope,  at  another  depressed  by  disappointment 
or  misgivings;  cheerful  to-day,  mournful  to-morrow;  in  the 
course  even  of  a few  minutes  it  will  run  through  a long  series 
of  intensest  emotions.  Change,  accordingly,  has  in  all  ages 
been  the  chosen  theme  of  the  moralist  and  the  preacher; 
while,  as  at  once  the  most  solemn  yet  most  animating,  the 
most  sad  yet  most  beautiful  subject  on  which  the  human  mind 
can  dwell,  poetry  and  philosophy  have  ever  held  a friendly 

559 


560 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS. 


rivalry  in  describing  its  loveliness,  and  interpreting  its  les- 
sons.* Well  styled  by  Feltlnini,  ‘‘the  great  lord  of  the  uni- 
verse,” all  the  best  charms  of  objective  nature,  and  all  the 
noblest  attitudes  of  the  intellect  and  affections  owe  their 
being  to  its  magic  touch.  Incessantly  at  work,  transfiguring, 
dissolving,  and  recombining,  it  makes  the  physical  world  one 
vast  kaleidoscope  wherein  new  and  unthought-of  charms 
are  brought  to  view  with  every  turn  of  day  and  season. 
Changed,  not  destroyed,  our  lament  for  the  beautiful  as  it 
glides  from  out  our  grasp,  is  but  to  lament  that  brighter 
things  are  coming.  For  there  is  no  truth  more  sublime  than 
that  decay,  death,  and  disappearance  are  not  annihilation, 
but  simply  the  attendants  on  change  of  form.  Annihilation  is 
an  impossible  thing.  Nor  is  there  any  truth  more  consola- 
tory. The  chrysalis  is  the  cradle  of  the  butterfly  at  the 
same  moment  that  it  is  the  tomb  of  the  grub;  the  flowers  of 
the  sunnner  cease  to  smile,  that  the  fruits  of  autumn  may 
step  forth.  So  with  the  changes  of  the  inner  life.  For  as 
changes  and  contrasts  are  the  springs  of  all  our  happiness 
and  enjoyment  in  connection  with  the  external  life,  as  well 
as  productive  of  the  most  charming  aspects  and  conditions 
of  nature ; so  is  it  from  changes  in  our  spiritual  states  that 
we  acquire  true  wisdom,  and  that  our  affections  become  in- 
vited into  their  loveliest -and  most  sacred  channels.  No 
one,  for  instance,  is  capable  of  truly  and  heartily  sympa- 
thizing with  the  troubles  of  another,  until  he  has  himself 
been  touched  by  sorrow.  How  beautiful  and  pathetic,  be- 
cause so  faithful  to  nature,  is  that  passage  in  the  first  JEneid 


* As  beautiful  for  its  succinctness,  as  the  15th  book  of  the  Meta- 
morphoses is  remarkable  for  its  detail,  on  the  subject  of  change,  is 
the  fine  passage  in  the  Oedipus  Coloneus,  of  Sophocles,  beginning 
0)  (pfKrad  Aiyeiog  nai,  (G07-C15.)  With  the  former  Compare  Lucretius, 
“Mutat  enini.  niundi  naturani  totius  setas.’^  &c.  Lib.  v.  826-834. 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS.^ 


561 


where  the  gentle  but  unfortunate  Dido  speaks  for  the  genu 
ineness  of  her  sympathy  on  the  ground  of  her  own  experi- 
ence of  misfortune.  It  is,  indeed,  by  reason  of  this  neces- 
sity, that  the  laws  and  phenomena  of  the  natural  world  are 
as  we  find  them.  Throughout  the  universe,  whatever  ex- 
ists, exists  not  so  much  for  its  own  sake,  as  for  the  sake  of 
something  higher  and  nobler  than  itself.  Night  does  not 
unroll  its  shades  solely  that  the  body  may  rest  and  sleep ; 
nor  does  winter  diffuse  its  frosts  only  that  the  trees  and 
plants  may  hybernate,  and  the  soul  refit  itself  for  feeding 
them.  They  have  a nobler  use  than  this.  They  have  les- 
sons to  give.  They  exist,  like  all  other  natural  mutations, 
that  they  may  be  emblematic  of  the  vicissitudes  so  import- 
ant to  the  spirit;  and  that  from  studying  the  glory  and 
beauty  which  arise  from  them,  w^e  may  learn  what  is  the 
end  and  promise  of  our  own.  ‘‘We  often  live  under  a 
cloud,’’  says  a thoughtful  writer,  “ and  it  is  well  for  us  that 
we  should.  Uninterrupted  sunshine  would  parch  our  hearts : 
we  want  shade  and  rain  to  cool  and  refresh  them.”  If  this 
be  true  of  the  secular  side  of  our  constitution,  how  much 
more  so  of  the  heavenly ! It  shows  why  Scripture  history 
(which  has  a didactic  intent  throughout)  is  one  continuous 
detail  of  misfortune  and  success,  trouble  and  consolation ; — 
the  narrative,  for  instance,  of  the  pilgrimage  of  the  Israel- 
ites, universally  acknowledged  to  be  typical  of  the  way  of 
regeneration.  In  this,  every  one  is  beset  by  hindrances  and 
temptations,  which,  though  sorely  oppressive  while  they  last, 
nevertheless  give  place  in  turn  to  triumph.  The  hunger 
and  thirst,  and  bitter  streams,  all  show  what  must  be  anti- 
cipated, but  no  less  so  the  supply  of  food,  and  the  sweeten- 
ing of  the  waters.  It  is  a happy  thing  for  a man  to  feel 
famished,  and  that  the  waters  are  bitter,  for  it  is  the  sign 
of  an  amending  nature,  and  leads  him  to  cry  to  God  for 
help.  If  we  are  not  often  so  impelled,  it  is  a proof  that  we 

y 


662 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS. 


are  but  little  advanced  upon  our  journey.  There  can  be  no 
virtue  or  gladness  without  trial  and  suffering  in  the  first 
place.  There  is  no  buying  corn  of  Joseph  till  there  has 
been  a famine  in  the  land ; nor  can  any  man  know  what 
are  the  green  pastures  and  the  still  rivers,  till  he  has  been 
in  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death.  God  cannot  lead  him 
thither  till  he  has  felt  how  weak  he  is  in  himself.  Until 
this  experience  shall  liave  been  gone  through,  they  are  a 
mere  mirage  of  the  imagination.  It  must  needs  be  that 
the  Son  of  Man  suffer  before  he  enter  into  his  glory.”  In 
its  aptitude  for  grievances,  temptations,  and  perplexities, 
conjoined  with  its  free-will,  the  spirit  of  man  is  constituted, 
accordingly  in  the  very  best  manner  possible  for  urging  him 
on  towards  heaven.  Though  they  are  painful  to  him,  they 
are  privileges.*  That  was  a deep  insight  into  the  economy 
of  Providence  which  saw  that — 

Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity. 

Had  Flavius  Boethius  never  been  imprisoned  by  Theodoric, 
he  had  never  written  his  Consolations  of  Philosophy.”  To 
a prison  also  we  owe  the  Pilgrim’s  Progress.” 

As  with  numbers  of  other  splendid  truths,  we  uncon- 
sciously express  the  excellency  of  alternatian  in  various 
words  of  common  discourse,  as  temper,  temperament,  tem- 
perature. For  all  these  terms  have  an  immediate  affinity 
with  the  Latin  tempus,  “time.”  Literally,  therefore,  to 
“temper,”  signifies  to  combine  or  intermingle  different 


* In  reference  to  these  matters  may  he  quoted  Lord  Bacon’s  ad- 
mirable precept  that  “we  should  practice  all  things  at  two  several 
times,  the  one  when  the  mind  is  best  disposed,  the  other  when  it  is 
worst  disposed  ; that  by  the  one  you  may  gain  a great  step;  by  the 
othc^r  you  may  work  out  the  knots  and  stonds  of  the  mind.”  (Adv. 
of  Learnings  Book  ii.) 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS. 


563 


states  or  conditions,  just  as  seasons,  days  and  nights  are  in- 
termingled by  nature.  And  as  the  object  of  such  intermin- 
gling is  to  benefit  and  ameliorate,  the  idea  of  benevolence 
incorporates  with  it.  Thus,  ‘‘  God  tempers  the  wind  to  ihe 
shorn  lamb.’’  Virgil  often  uses  the  word  in  this  way. 
When  the  sunburnt  land  is  refreshed  by  water,  he  says  that 
‘‘  arentia  temperat  arm,”  ‘‘  it  tempers  the  thirsty  fields and 
a little  further  on,  ‘‘  cum  frigidus  aera  Vespera  temperat,^’ 
“ when  cool  evening  tempers  the  air.”  The  sun,  Cicero  finely 
calls  mundi  temperatio,  the  temperer  of  the  world.”  As  a 
substantive,  “ temper  ” denotes  our  general  character  or  dispo- 
sition, because  compounded  of  various  ingredients.  Accord- 
ing to  the  predominance  of  one  element  or  another,  it  is  good 
temper,  or  ill  temper,  mild  temper,  or  harsh  temper.  To  be 
‘‘  temperate  ” is  not  to  remain  in  any  one  season  or  state,  but 
to  give  everything  its  proper  meed  of  attention,  in  deference 
not  only  to  the  rules  of  health,  but  to  the  instructions  of  the 
Preacher,  when  he  tells  us  that  there  is  a time  for  every- 
thing,” and  that  “ God  hath  made  everything  beautiful  (or 
good)  in  its  season.”  The  “ intemperate”  man,  whether  in 
things  of  body  or  mind,  is  he  who,  bestowing  his  love  exclu- 
sively on  the  spring  or  the  summer,  in  the  morning  or  the 
evening,  refuses  to  enjoy  more  than  a single  season ; and 
thereby  neutralizes  both  the  pleasures  he  selects,  and  the 
kind  offices  of  the  remainder  of  the  year.  Who  so  much 
enjoys  the  calm,  sweet  friendship  of  the  summer,  as  he  who 
has  fought  with  the  asperities  of  winter  ? Temperature,” 
in  its  primitive  sense,  denotes  that  agreeable  condition  of  the 
atmosphere  which  results  from  the  due  admixture  of  heat 
and  cold. 

We  use  the  word  “season”  in  much  the  same  way,  and 
for  a similar  reason,  season  being  a kind  of  synonym  of 
time. 


564 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS. 


“ Earthly  power  doth  then  show  likest  God^s 
Wlien  mercy  seasons  justice.’^ 

Experiencing  the  mutations  of  nature,  then,  in  our  own 
daily  history,  and  vividly  so  as  regards  the  spiritual  half  of 
our  being,  the  names  of  the  divisions  of  times  and  seasons 
become  the  appropriate  metaphors  wherein  to  speak  of  our 
varied  states  of  heart  and  mind.  There  is  no  other  lan- 
guage for  the  purpose.  Nor  are  any  figures  referring  to 
time  so  frequent,  from  the  circumstance  of  the  present  de- 
partment of  the  correspondence  having  been  far  more 
largely  recognized  than  that  which  regards  the  symbolism 
of  the  year  in  the  collective;  which  arises  in  turn,  from 
the  fact  that  men  are  prone  to  affix  their  attention  to 
passing  events  and  contiguous  objects,  rather  than  to  rise 
to  the  panoramas  of  philosophy.  Spring,  for  instance,  is 
everywhere  identified  with  hope.  Men  see  that  in  all  their 
qualities  the  two  things  are  naturally  and  inseparably  ac- 
cordant; and  this  is  probably  a reason  why  descriptions 
of  spring  are  more  plentiful  than  those  of  any  other  sea- 
son. For  Hope,  the  only  heritage  of  many  men,  and 
the  light,  life,  and  nepenthe  of  all,  is  naturajly  foremost 
among  the  emotions,  and  the  most  agreeable  to  think  and 
write  about ; and  it  cannot  be  supposed  that  the  mind  ever 
fastens  with  a pure  and  animated  affection  on  natural  ob- 
jects and  appearances,  simjDly  because  they  are  pleasing  to 
the  eye  and  ear.  That  in  nature  always  most  interests  us 
which  bears  the  closest  affinity  with  the  feelings  we  most 
prize,  and  those  feelings  are  most  prized  which  yield  us  our 
highest  satisfaction  and  solace.  Eousseau  pourtrays  the 
symbolic  character  of  the  spring  in  the  most  beautiful  man- 
ner : — ‘‘  To  the  appearance  of  spring  the  imagination  adds 
that  of  the  seasons  which  are  to  follow.  To  the  tender  buds 
which  are  perceived  by  the  eye,  it  adds  flowers,  fruits, 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS. 


565 


shades,  and  sometimes  the  mysteries  they  conceal.  It 
brings  into  one  point  of  view  the  things  that  are  to  succeed, 
and  sees  things  less  as  they  are  than  as  it  wishes  them  to  be. 
In  the  autumn,  on  the  contrary,  we  can  only  contemplate 
the  scene  before  us.  If  we  wish  to  anticipate  the  spring, 
our  course  is  stopped  by  winter,  and  our  frozen  imagination 
expires  amid  snows  and  fogs.’’  {Emile,  lib.  1,  tome  1,  448.) 
Spring,  like  the  morning,  is  used  also  as  the  emblem  of 
peace  and  gladness  after  misfortune,  and  with  perfect  pro- 
priety, because  the  season  of  returning  hope.  Shelley  gives 
a charming  example : — 

Thou  Friend,  whose  presence  on  my  wintry  heart 
Fell  like  bright  Spring  upon  some  herbless  plain. 

How  beautiful,  and  calm,  and  free  thou  wert. 

In  thy  young  wisdom  ! 

Pindar  also,  having  first  called  calamity  and  bereavement 
by  the  name  of  vtipaq  or  “ snow  storm,” — 

vvv  6^  av  fjLSra  ttoikiXm  ^d(pov, 

XQd)V  (5r£  <poiviKtoi(nv  dv&riatv  pdSoig. 

“ But  now  again,  after  the  wintry  darkness  of  the  changing  months, 
(this  happy  household)  like  the  earth,  has  blossomed  with  purple 
flowers.’^ — Isth.  iii.  36,  37. 

So  in  the  elegant  poetry  of  Ovid, — 

Nec  fera  tempestas  toto  tamen  horret  in  anno ; 

Et  tibi  (crede  mihi)  tempora  veris  erunt. 

“ Bleak  winter  does  not  freeze  throughout  the  year  ; and  to  thee, 
too,  believe  me,  the  sweet  hours  of  Spring  will  yet  arrive.’^ — Fasti, 
i.  485-6. 

In  the  Tristia  of  the  same  author,  the  word  verno,  literally, 
to  be  like  the  spring,  is  applied  to  the  joyous  warbling  of  the 
birds  over  their  newly-made  nests,  one  of  the  most  sweet  and 
inspiring  accompaniments  of  the  vernal  season : — 

48 


566 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS. 


Prataque  pubescunt  variorum  flore  colorum  ; 

Indocilique  loquax  giitture  vernat  avia. 

The  meadows  are  decked  with  flowers  of  many  hues ; and  the 
prattling  birds  carol  with  their  untaught  throats.’^ — Lib.  iii.,  El. 
xii.  7,  8. 

Summer  and  winter  accord  with  prosperity  and  adversity. 
Hence  the  famous  lines  at  the  opening  of  Richard  the 
Third 

Now  is  the  winter  of  our  discontent 

Made  glorious  summer  by  the  sun  of  York.” 

^schylus,  in  the  Prometheus,  cites  winter  with  admirable 
effect : — 

KatTOi  Kal  Xeyovar^  dSvpofiai 

Oeda-cvTOv  X^tucova,  Kal  6ia({)9opdv 

pop(pf)g,  (642-644.) 

And  yet  do  I grieve  even  to  speak  of  this  heaven-sent  winter, 
and  the  ruin  of  my  form.” 

It  is  finely  introduced,  also,  in  line  1015  of  the  same  play. 
But  fairly  to  quote  examples  of  these  two  figures,  would  be 
to  illustrate  the  spontaneity  with  which  they  have  been  used 
by  the  best  poets  of  all  ages.  Language  finding  no  terms 
so  fit,  they  become  a part  of  its  current  coin.  There  is, 
however,  one  beautiful  fact  in  connection  with  the  emblem- 
ism  of  the  seasons  which  should  not  be  passed  over.  As  in 
every  part  of  the  year  some  particular  department  of  nature 
is  in  its  highest  glory  and  perfection,  so  at  each  period  of 
life  some  particular  intellectual  faculty  is  in  the  ascendant, 
some  sentiment  is  most  persuasive,  some  passion  most  im- 
perious. Johnson  lias  well  treated  of  the  latter  circum- 
stances in  a paper  on  the  “ Climacterics  of  the  Mind.’' 
(Rambler,  No.  151.)  Each  season  of  the  year,  like  each 
hour  of  the  day,  suggests  also  its  own  particular  themes  for 
thought  and  conversation ; so  that  when  living  in  our  true 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS. 


567 


and  proper  relations  with  nature,  there  springs  up  a delicious 
and  rewarding  sympathy  in  our  minds,  which  at  once  em- 
bellishes the  world  without,  and  gladdens  and  fertilizes  the 
little  world  within.  Keenly  sensible  of  the  operation  of  this 
beneficent  law,  the  meditative  find  it  alike  easy  and  agree- 
able to  classify  their  thoughts  and  ideas  under  the  names 
of  the  months  and  seasons.  The  Italian  prose  poet  of  the 
17th  century,  Partenio  Giannettasio,  divides  his  lively  and 
versatile  book.  Annus  Eruditus,  into  four  portions,  naming 
them  Spring,  Summer,  Autumn,  and  Winter. 

Of  the  particular  months  of  the  year,  May,  as  the  most 
celebrated  for  its  charms,  is  also  the  most  frequently  used  in 
metaphor.  Perhaps  the  most  elegant  instances  of  the  latter 
are  those  occurring  in  the  minor  poems  of  Schiller,  pieces 
many  of  them  inimitable,  except  to  paraphrase,  even  in  the 
hands  of  his  most  successful  translator — Bulwer.  Thus — 

Deine  Seele  gleich  der  Spiegelwelle, 

Silberklar  und  sonnenhelle, 

Maiet  nocli  den  triiben  Herbst  um  dich. 

Literally, 

Thy  soul,  like  the  mirror-wave,  silver-clear  and  sun-bright,  still 
Mays  the  dim  Autumn  round  thee.^’ — (MelanchoUe  an  Laura,) 

As  with  the  four  seasons,  and  with  the  months,  so  with  day 
and  night.  Ko  two  days  are  exactly  alike.  Somewhere,  in 
the  look  either  of  the  sky  or  of  the  earth,  there  is  sure  to 
have  been  a change.  Even  the  nights  differ  in  kind.  What 
a contrast  between  an  atmosphere  choked  with  black  and 
melancholy  vapors,  and  the  transparent  sky  of  a frosty 
winter’s  night,  when  the  innumerable  stars  are  glittering, 
or  the  round  moon  is  ‘^walking  in  her  brightness.”  Take 
but  a single  portion  of  day  or  night,  and  the  minutes  them- 
selves are  found  inconstant.  One  lovely  tint  of  sunrise  or 
of  sunset  comes  but  as  the  herald  of  another.  While  we 


568 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS. 


watch  the  purpling  of  the  great  cloud-mountains  of  the  west, 
and  the  surge  of  liquid  gold  above  their  brows,  the  sprinkled 
roses  of  the  zenith  have  shed  their  leaves  and  fled.  So  with 
the  successive  hues  of  the  brighter  mornings  of  Summer  and 
early  Autumn.  He  was  no  poor  observer  who  gave  to  their 
heavenly  splendors  the  immortal  epithets  of  x[)6xo7ie7:Xo(; 
and  pbdoddxToXo::,'^  Precisely  similar,  as  to  their  muta- 
bility, are  the  states  or  attitudes  assumed  by  us  in  our  inner 
lives.  Every  one  is  sensible  that  there  are  light  and  dark- 
ness which  are  not  of  the  sky ; and  that  peace  and  happi- 
ness are  in  sweet  natural  agreement  with  the  morning,  when 
the  light  breaks  forth,  and  everything  is  glad ; sorrow  and 
disappointment  with  the  gloom  of  evening ; and  their  ex- 
tremest  and  bitterest  degrees  with  the  darkness  of  deep 
night.  Hence,  in  the  languages  of  all  nations,  we  find  such 
similes  as  the  morning  of  hope,  the  noon  of  enjoyment,  the 
night  of  sorrow ; every  one  of  them  taking  also  the  briefer 
and  pleasant  form  of  metaphor,  and  thus  resting  on  our  in- 
tuitions for  translation.  What  can  be  more  exquisite  and 
touching  than  when  poor  Electra,  in  Sophocles,  exclaims  to 
her  long-lost  brother,  the  only  friend  she  has  in  the  world — 

vvv  6^  I'xco  a€*  Trpov^dvris  6e 

^Ckrarav  ex^^’  Trpoaoipiv. 

“ But  now  I have  thee ; and  thou  hast  dawned  upon  me  with  most 
dear  aspect.^^ — {Electra,  1285-6.) 

In  calamity,  says  the  Arabic  proverb,  there  is  hope,  for  the 
end  of  a dark  night  is  the  dawn. 

The  life  of  religion  experiences  the  same  vicissitudes. 
Consisting  of  six  principal  evening-mornings,  its  minuter 
history  records,  nevertheless,  an  infinity  of  little  ones ; just 


* “ Safiron-robcd’^  and  rosy-fingered.^ 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS. 


569 


as  the  three-score-and-ten  years  of  the  animal  life  are  made 
up  of  some  five-aiid-twenty  thousand  miniatures  of  years. 
Involuntarily  and  strangely  to  us,  there  are  perpetual  oscil- 
lations between  love  and  indifference  towards  what  is  right. 
Without  knowing  how  or  why,  we  find  every  now  and  then, 
that  we  have  traveled  into  the  “strange  country’’  of  the 
prodigal  son.*  Scripture,  accordingly,  is  replenished  with 
allusions  to  day  and  night,  morning  and  evening,  in  these, 
their  particular  senses,  night  and  evening  being  used  to  de- 
note the  sorrow  and  despondency  of  the  soul ; morning  and 
day  to  express  faith,  hope,  and  joy.  The  context  always 
indicates  whether  the  words  refer  to  stages  of  the  spiritual 
development  in  general,  or  simply  to  its  often-repeated  con- 
ditions. In  the  Psalms  these  figures  are  especially  abundant. 
Thus — “ At  midnight  I will  rise  to  give  thanks  to  thee,  be- 
cause of  thy  righteous  judgments.”  Here  is  shown  how 
under  the  deepest  sense  of  sin  and  disobedience,  a sincere 
and  contrite  heart  will  yet  remember  and  be  grateful  for 
God’s  mercy.  To  the  same  purport  is  Ps.  Ixiii.  6, — “When 
I meditate  on  thee  in  the  night-watches,  because  thou  hast 
been  my  help,  in  the  shadow  of  thy  wings  will  I rejoice.” 
Out  of  the  cold  and  darkness  of  such  night,  as  out  of  winter, 
burst  light  and  beauty.  No  state  of  despondency  or  mourn- 
ing is  so  deep  that  in  due  time  it  does  not  give  way  to  hope 
and  rejoicing.  Our  “youth  is  renewed  like  the  eagle’s.” 
When  his  sorrows  pass  into  peace,  David  exclaims,  because 
of  this — “ I will  sing  of  thy  mercy  in  the  morning!^  And 
elsewhere,  that  though  “ weeping  may  endure  for  a night. 


* “Moral  epochs  have  their  course  as  well  as  the  seasons.  We 
can  no  more  hold  them  fast  than  we  can  hold  sun,  moon,  and  stars. 
Our  faults  perpetually  return  upon  us,  and  herein  lies  the  subtlest 
difficulty  of  self-knowledge.^^ — Goethe,  Dichtunq  nnd  Wahrheit,  book 
xiii.,  vol.  3,  p.  123. 

48  » 


o70 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS. 


joy  cometh  in  the  morning.”  And  to  show  again  that 
whatever  may  be  our  state,  the  mind  should  always  be  di- 
rected towards  God,  he  says  of  “ the  righteous  man,”  that 
‘‘  in  His  law  doth  he  meditate  both  day  and  night.^'  All 
these  passages  acquire  their  highest  interest  and  significance 
from  our  realizing  them  within  ourselves.  It  was  for  this 
end  they  were  designed.  Beautiful  and  practical  as  they 
are  in  the  letter,  and  affecting  as  the  recorded  utterances  of 
an  individual,  they  truly  become  God’s  word  to  us  only  in 
proportion  that  we  feel  that  we  repeat  them  for  ourselves, 
and  not  so  much  with  our  lips,  as  in  the  inmost  recesses  of 
our  being.  The  history  of  the  ravens  bringing  food  to 
Elijah  while  in  the  wilderness,  both  “ in  the  morning”  and 
“ in  the  evening,”  has  the  same  personal  relation  to  us,  and 
is  to  be  interpreted  after  the  same  manner.  Whenever, 
like  the  prophet,  we  are  dwelling  by  the  brook  Cherith,”* 
God’s  benevolent  remembrance  lets  no  period  pass  over 
without  giving  appropriate  supplies  of  nourishment.  All 
that  he  asks  is  faith  in  him,  and  then  he  will  cheer  the 
darkest  night.  It  is  a glorious  privilege  to  have  the  power 
of  honoring  God  by  faith.  Angels  can  adore  and  love,  but 
only  man,  the  suffering,  self-made  exile,  surrounded  by 
doubts  and  error,  pain  and  temptation,  tempest  and  dark- 
ness, can  honor  his  God  hj  faith. 

Day”  is  used  not  only  in  the  senses  above  specified,  but 
also  as  a metonymy  for  time,  periods,  and  seasons  in  gene- 
ral, and  thence  as  a metaphor  for  states  and  conditions  of 
all  possible  kinds,  whether  good  or  evil.  “Time,”  “period,” 
and  “season,”  are  similarly  used  as  figures  for  “day.”  We 
speak  of  days  of  rejoicing,  a day  of  trouble,  times  of  success. 


* To  dwell  “by  the  brook  Cherith’^  signifies  to  be  in  the  endu- 
rance of  temptations.  Though  the  truths  of  the  Word  are  then  in 
obscurity  to  rnan^s  mind,  he  is  nevertheless  supported  by  them. 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS. 


671 


seasons  of  hope,  the  days  of  one^s  youth.  Behold,  I will 
add  unto  thy  days,  fifteen  years'^  (Is.  xxxviii.  5.)  It  is  im- 
portant to  note  this  meaning  of  the  word,  because  of  its  fre- 
quent use  in  Scripture  to  denote  states  in  general,  whatever 
their  quality.  “ Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread,^’  is  in  its 
higher  sense,  a prayer  for  the  spiritual  assistance  best  suited 
to  the  condition  of  our  soul  at  the  moment  of  preferring  the 
request. 

So  varied  is  the  moral  significance  of  Times  and  Seasons 
that  they  might  yet  be  contemplated  in  new  relations,  and 
with  new  and  agreeable  profit.  How  beautiful,  for  in- 
stance, is  the  agreement  of  the  morning  and  the  Spring  with 
childhood,  in  the  further  respect  of  its  peculiar  innocence 
and  purity!  It  is  by  reason  of  this  agreement  that  in 
Scripture,  the  innocence  and  purity  so  vitally  essential  to 
the  life  of  the  Christian,  are  frequently  denoted  by  or  sym- 
bolized in  childhood ; as  when  our  Lord  placed  the  little 
child  in  the  midst,’’  thereby  showing  that  innocence  should 
be  the  centre  of  thought  and  deed.  For  every  act  of  the 
Saviour’s,  as  well  as  every  word,  has  its  spiritual  meaning 
and  instruction ; and  if,  with  His  divine  help,  we  do  not 
strive,  in  every  daily  duty,  to  place  the  little  child  in  the 
midst,  each  of  us  for  ourselves,  in  the  principles  and  method 
of  our  actions,  we  are  not  truly  attending  to  His  behests. 
Hence,  too.  His  divine  warning  that  unless  we  become  “ as 
little  children,”  we  can  in  no  wise  enter  the  kingdom  of 
heaven.”  It  is  for  the  same  reason  that  the  Lord  is  imaged 
as  “ the  Lamb.”  In  the  unaffected  simplicity  of  all  its  lit- 
tle ways,  in  the  sharing  of  its  food,  for  example,  with  those 
around,  the  little  child  is  the  sweetest  emblem  of  the  Chris- 
tian, while  the  exquisite  delicacy  of  its  frame  is  the  outward 
and  visible  picture  of  its  moral  qualities.  Hence  the  deep 
significance  of  the  history  of  Naaman,  who,  when  he  had 
obediently  washed  himself  in  tlie  Jordan  for  his  leprosy, 


572 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS. 


“ became  clean,  and  his  flesh  like  the  flesh  of  a little  cliildr 
In  the  future  state  we  shall  probably  enjoy  all  the  varieties 
of  temporal  life  at  the  same  moment ; the  wisdom  of  age, 
the  vigor  of  manhood,  the  grace  of  youth,  the  innocence  of 
infancy. 

Again,  morning  is  pre-eminently  the  time  of  beauty. 
Hence  the  innumerable  similes  of  “ beautiful  as  the  morn- 
ing,” and  ‘Hair  as  the  morning.”  With  its  added  attributes 
of  innocence  and  purity,  it  becomes  the  emblem  of  female 
youthfulness.  In  “Festus,”  accordingly,  we  have  the 
“maiden  morn,”  and  the  “virgin  morn.”  A “mVgin”  is 
literally,  “ one  in  her  spring, both  as  to  time  and  to  moral 
state.  And  as  the  latter  is  the  higher  signification  of  this 
beautiful  word,  the  Bible  applies  it  to  both  sexes.  “ These 
are  they  which  are  virgins,  which  follow  the  Lamb  whither- 
soever he  goeth.” 

Finally,  may  be  noticed  the  ancient,  pleasing,  and  uni- 
versal fancy  that  heaven  is  a land  of  perpetual  spring  and 
sunshine. 

“ There  everlasting  Spring  abides. 

And  never-withering  flowers.’’ 

In  conformity  with  this  belief,  the  pictures  sought  to  be 
drawn  of  the  future  state  of  the  blessed  have  in  every  age 
used  spring  and  daylight  for  their  unvarying  landscape. 
But  it  may  be  questioned  if  this  be  right.  Milton  perhaps 
is  nearer  the  truth  when  he  makes  Raphael  tell  Adam  that 
in  heaven,  as  on  earth,  there  are  changes  of  times  and  sea- 
sons, morning  and  evening : — 

“ For  we  have  also  our  evening  and  our  morn.” 

“ The  face  of  briglUest  heaven  had  changed 

To  grateful  twilight  (for  niglit  conies  not  there 
In  darker  veil),  and  roseate  dews  disposed 
All  but  the  unsleeping  eyes  of  God  to  rest.” 


TIMES  AND  SEASONS. 


573 


He  gives  the  reason  also  why  it  should  be  so : — 

For  change  delectable^ 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  that  grand  unity  of  design 
which  links  together  every  law  and  item  of  the  visible  uni- 
verse, extends  also  to  the  heavenly  world  ; making  it  a sub- 
lime prototype  in  spiritual  scenery  and  phenomena,  of  what 
here  below  is  witnessed  in  material  shape.  Time  reigns  in  the 
world  of  matter;  state,  in  the  world  of  spirit,  each  answering 
to  the  other.  When,  therefore,  we  enter  the  eternal  coun- 
try, the  golden  city  of  the  great  King,  though  we  shall  have 
parted  from  the  sweet  presence  of  months  and  seasons  as  we 
now  know  them,  it  will  be  to  find  that  they  were  only  the 
weak,  shadowy  representatives  of  spiritual  states  infinitely 
more  glorious  and  inspiring.  The  times  and  seasons  which 
here  owe  their  being  to  the  sun  of  nature,  will  then  be  spi- 
ritually reproduced  by  the  Sun  of  Righteousness,  who  is  its 
life  and  light ; save  that  what  here  is  winter  will  be  dis- 
armed of  all  its  cold  and  bitterness ; and  what  is  night,  of 
all  its  dismalness  and  terrors.  It  is  in  true  nights,  when  the 
skies  put  forth  their  radiant  splendors,  that  even  in  this 
present  life  we  see  most  of  God. 


INDEX 


PAGE 

Actinia 467,  4S2 

Action  the  spring  of  Happiness 311 

Adansonia 134,  139 

Age,  signification  of  the  word 314 

not  a matter  of  birthdays. ...254,  257 

death  from  old 123 

Ages,  criteria  of. 134 

Air,  office  of  the 77 

Algas,  duration  of  life  in 151 

Indian  and  Antarctic 493 

Amaranths 413 

Amusement,  rationale  of 303,  323 

Analogy,  philosophy,  office  and 

value  of 425 

distinction  between  Cor- 
respondence and 426 

Analogies  between  minerals  and 

flowers 432,  434,  463 

of  plants 475,  480 

—of  animals 480,  485 

between  plants  and  ani- 
mals  154,  486-496 

of  the  seasons 553 

Anima  and  animus,  signification  of  235 

Anima  mundi 32 

Animal  signifies  “ breather” 77 

“ Animal  soul” 230 

“ Animal  functions” 46 

Animals  and  plants,  comparative 

structure  of. 147 

duration  of  life  in 152 

food  of 63 

physical  powers  of  the  lower  459 

happiness  of  the  lower 403 

Animalcules 23,  462,  480 

Annual  plants,  value  to  man  of. 1.38 

Antediluvians,  longevity  of  the 167 

Antetypes  of  nature,  spiritual 177. 

189,  420 

Apparitions 221 

Appetite,  duty  to  have  a good  one 70 

Apples,  why  sacred  to  Venus 444 

Aristaenetus,  quoted 443,  504 

Art,  its  primary  source 180 

Natural  Theology  of 181 

principles  of. 109,  508 

Asphyxia 121 

Atmosphere,  functions  of  the 77 

evils  of  an  impure 94 

a solution 94 


PAGE 

Autumn,  emblematic  character  of.....  553 

Autumnal  foliage  and  sunset 457 

Beauty,  motion  needful  to 106 

^ value  of  personal 289 

Beetles 461 

Bible,  best  evidence  of  truth  of  the...  188 

Bichat,  quoted 43,  121 

Birds,  longevity  of. 158 

singing  of. 355,  445 

nuptial  plumage  of. 351,  3.55 

instincts  of. 517 

Blennius,  pholis 483 

Blood,  the 60,  87,  101,  118 

specific  differences  begin  in  the  464 

Bones,  structure  and  growth  of..... 170-173 

Books  and  reading 287 

criteria  of  good  ones 290 

friendship  of. 296 

Bosom,  the  female,  images  in  nature  of  440 

Botany,  pleasures  and  rewards  of. 271 

Brain,  the 121 

Breath,  the  sign  and  symbol  of 

life 85,  116 

of  the  dying,  superstitions 

respecting 117 

Browne,  Dr.  Henry,  quoted 121 

Sir  Thomas,  quoted 365,  414 

Brutes,  their  want  of  reason 522 

intelligence  of 530 

supposed  immorality  of 401 

Buffon,  quoted 168 

Burial-grounds,  intramural 98 

popular  errors  regarding 409 

Butterfly,  emblem  of  the  Resurrec- 
tion   351 

life  of  the 143 

Calendar  of  Nature 546 

Cardan,  Jerome,  quoted 413 

Carlyle,  quoted 219,  265 

Carnivora,  vegetable 63,  438 

Carpenter,  quoted 55 

Cams,  quoted 14,  32,  511 

Cellular  plants 479 

Cemeteries 98 

Cerealia 48 

Cereus,  niirht-flowering 438 

Chain  of  Nature 447 

Change  the  universal  law 201 

Cheer  fulness,  secret  of. 316 

Chemistry,  ultimatum  of. 30 


575 


57G 


INDEX, 


PAOE 

Cliolera 119 

Ciliary  motion 19 

Classical  education 274 

Classification  of  plants  and  animals, 

true  idea  of 494 

Clevedon,  view  from 421 

Clouds,  tlie 107 

Coal  plants 206 

Coleridjjje,  quoted 192,  441 

Common  things,  value  of 266,  275 

Coni  ferae 1.‘18 

Conversation,  Art  of 319 

Corals 148 

Correlation  of  Forces 55 

Correspondence,  or  analogy  between 

the  spiritual  and  material 175,  194 

Cousin,  Victor,  quoted 454 

Cryptogamia,  enormous  fertility  of....  22 

Crystals 131 

Cupid  and  Psyche,  fable  of .‘546 

Curiosity  the  appetite  of  the  mind....  284 

Dead,  sorrow  for  the .391 

Death,  causes  of  Physical 11.5-121 

rationale  of Ill,  241 

mistaken  ideas  respecting 399 

fear  of. 396 

real  nature  and  meaning  of.....  386 

spiritual 333 

is  rejuvenescence 365 

of  friends,  use  of. 392 

Scriptural  senses  of  the  word..  337 

true  and  false  emblems  of 412 

the  aliment  of  life 345 

Degrees,  discrete  and  continuous 454 

Delesseria  sanguinea 51,  151 

Desmidiese 463,  467 

Desmodium  gyrans 19 

Dionasa  muscipula 18,  63,  437 

Diseases,  origin  of 369 

representative  character  of...  380 

D’Israeli,  quoted 191,  3“ 

Dreams 414 

Drosera 63,  437,  469 

Duration  of  life 119 

in  animals 152 

■ in  plants 132 

Eating,  pleasures  of 68-71 

Echo 84 

Education,  true  and  false 272,  285,  326 

Eggs,  tenacity  of  life  in 21 

Ehrenburg,  quoted 148,  468 

Electricity 54 

Elements  of  matter,  primitive -30,  126 

Elephant 157,  165 

Emblems  of  death,  true  and  false 412 

Ennui 317 

Epicurism 70,  317 

Evening  primrose 438 

Exogens  and  Endogens,  differences 

between 489 

Eye  and  the  ear,  the 82 

Eyes  of  brutes  and  man 524 

Ey(i,  the  ej)it()me  of  the  body 504 

P’aitli  and  works 300 

Fecundity,  comparative 165 

F(!(5diug  and  procreation,  analogicts  of  75 

Feelings,  truths  of  the 217 


PAGE 

Ferns 361 

Fichte,  quoted '. 2.58,  264,  .345 

Fishes,  lease  of  life  in 159 

Flourens,  quoted 168,  169 

Flowers,  structure  of 476 

night-blooming .363 

Food,  particulars  respecting 57 

Form,  law  of 2.33 

true  idea  of. 495 

Frost-flowers 4.32 

Functions  of  organized  beings 46)5 

Fungi 16,  140,  167,  490,  492 

Phosphorescent 442 

Generalization 428 

Genius,  characteristics  of 312,  429,  .542 

Geographical  associations  of  plants 

and  animals 488 

Geology,  facts  in 12,  .357,  485 

the  poem  of. 205,  .357 

Gestation,  periods  of 164 

Ghost,  meaning  of  the  word 2.31 

(J host-belief 217,  243 

(}od,  personality  of 31 

distinct  from  nature 32,  498 

true  idea  of 36,  301,  400 

unity  of. 498 

Good,  Dr.  Mason,  quoted 218,  510 

Gosse,  quoted 22,  441,  468,  483 

Guyot,  Arnold,  quoted 23 

Happiness,  secret  of. 314,  389 

Harvey,  Dr.,  quoted 148 

Head,  the,  the  epitome  of  man 504 

Health 366 

Heart  and  Lungs,  the 86 

Heat,  animal 93 

relation  of  to  life 53 

Heaven,  true  idea  of 182,  2.30 

Heliotrope 49 

Herder,  quoted 346 

Hitchcock,  quoted 28 

Home,  instinct  of. 527 

Homology 473 

in  plants 475 

Hope 271 

the  “ breath  of  Life” 271 

Humboldt,  quoted 53,  104 

Hunger,  considerations  upon 61 

the  source  of  moral  order....  68 

significance  of  in  Scripture,.  281 

and  love 75 

Hybrids,  fewness  of  real  ones 463 

why  infertile 190 

Ice-plant 498 

Imagination,  office  and  rewards  of 

the 185,  270,  284,  415 

Immortality, rationale  of 399 

Inactivity,  destructive  results  of. 317 

Inorganic  nature,  life  of 23,  105 

Insanity 367 

Insects,  their  voracity 66 

their  siz(« 122 

their  term  of  life 161 

their  metamorphoses 351 

Inspiration,  true  .idea  of. 536 

Instinct  and  reason,  considerations 

upon 509 

four  leading  species  of. 515 


IINDEX.  577 


PAGE 

Instinct  in  plants 518 

in  man 526 

Intellect  contingent  upon  external 

nature 499 

Language,  philosophy  of 228,  499 

figurative 14,  226 

a form  of  poetry 225 

Latent  life 20 

Laws  of  Nature 28.  374 

Laycock,  Dr.,  quoted 355,  511 

Leaf,  the,  the  type  of  the  plant 47  6 

Leases  of  life,  the  various 128 

Life,  derived  from  God 26 

varieties  of. 38 

three  degrees  of  in  man 505 

definitions  of. .43-44 

etymology  of  the  word 101 

names  applied  to 43 

consists  in  action  and  reaction  of 

complementaries 34 

Life  of  inorganic  nature 24,  40 

depends  on  food 57 

is  motion 100 

an  everlasting  spiral 235 

blessedness  and  privileges  of. 250 

is  love 259 

should  be  made  the  most  of. 388 

■ is  poetry 269 

Scripture  senses  of  the  word 310 

uncreate 26 

general  idea  of. 11-14 

Light,  relation  of  to  life 49-53 

Linaria  vulgaris 478 

Love 527 

• of  Nature 264 

of  offspring,  instinct  of. 518 

Lucernaria  auricula 468 

Man  the  epitome  of  nature 466,  497 

characteristics  of. 207 

Mantis  religiosa 162 

Marriage,  conducive  to  longevity 173 

the  universal  beginning...o6,  89 

Martineau,  quoted 34,  253 

Materialists  and  Spiritualists 192 

Matter  and  Substance 179 

Memory,  permanence  of. 416 

Menander,  quoted 260 

Microcosm,  man  a 195,  500 

Mildew,  origin,  &c.  of. 22,  480 

Mind  in  advanced  life 256 

••Ministry  of  the  Beautiful” 306 

Miracles 372-380 

Mistletoe 165 

Molecular  death 58 

Monkeys 488 

Mortality  and  Immortality 386 

Mosses 436 

Motion  the  universal  sign  of  life...  100-108 

Music 82 

and  light,  analogy  of 384 

Mystery 211 

“ Mysticism” 192 

Mythology 365 

Natural  history,  uses  and  rewards  of..  271 

Nature,  true  idea  of 177 

unity  of. 471 

love  of. 264 


PAGE 


Nature,  soothing  influence  of. 277 

Nervous  fluid 12C 

Nettle 442 

Nuptial  season.  Beauties  attendant 

upon  the 355 

Odyle 48 

Oersted,  quoted 106 

Orange-blossom,  why  worn  by  brides.  444 

Orchideae 96,442,  487 

Ornithogalum  umbellatum 434 

Oscillatoria 19 

Ovid,  quoted 109 

Oxalideae 18 

Palingenesis 190 

Palm-trees 137 

“ Panthea,”  Hunt’s,  quoted 13 

Pantheism ; 31 

Papilionaceas 441 

Parasitic  plants 63 

Parrots 488 

“ Perfection,”  meaning  of,  as  spoken 

of  natural  forms 461 

Petrarch,  quoted 296,  367 

Philo  Judaeus,  quoted 182,  336 

Philosophy,  true  principles  of. 471 

Physics,  physiology,  and  psychology..  208 

Plants,  food  of. 63 

respiration  of. 95 

sleep  of 438 

sexuality  of. 439 

instinct  of. 518 

lactation  in 76,  439 

leases  of  life  in 132 

Play,  rationale  of. 322 

Plurality  of  Worlds 12 

Pneuma,  signification  of. 237 

Poetry,  true  idea,  office  and  rewards 

of 222,  267,  387 

Polytheism 540 

Pomegranate 443 

Prefigurations  of  nature 431 

in  minerals 432 

in  plants 436 

in  animals 445 

Procreation  the  great  end  of  nature..  141 

dignity  and  sanctity  of...  354 

Promotion,  law  of,  in  material  nature  466 

inhuman  body 503 

Proof  pertains  only  to  inferior  truths  187 

Propagation,  instinct  of. 517 

Proteus,  fable  of. 155 

Protococcus 45 

Psyche,  signification  of. 236 

Puberty,  relation  of,  to  length  of 

life 145,  164 

Radcliffe,  Dr.,  quoted 25 

Ray,  quoted 17 

Reading,  objects  and  delights  of. 296 

Reason,  true  idea  of. 379 

Rejuvenescence,  law  of. 344 

in  human  body 352 

in  human  mind 361 

in  Institutions 363 

in  animals 347 

of  the  earth 357 

Religion,  true  idea  of. 298,  423,  508 

and  philanthropy 73 


49 


Z 


578 


INDEX, 


PAGE 

Reproduction  the  grcfit  aim  of  nature  142 

Reptiles,  longevity  of. KiO 

Respiration,  api)aratus  and  office  of..85-93 

R(!surrectiou,  true  idea  of  the 339,  406 

Riclieraiid,  (pioted 43 

Richter,  quoted 272 

Rosaceae 360 

Rousseau,  quoted 66,  263 

Ruskin,  ipioted 125,  276,  424 

Sanitary  Reforms 95 

Schiller,  quoted 262 

Schleiden,  quoted 21,  149,  442 

Seasons,  analogies  of  the 554 

Sects,  religious,  only  two  really  dis- 
tinct ones 302 

Seeds,  structure  of 76,  439 

vitality  of. 21 

Self-defense,  instinct  of 515 

Self-preservation,  instinct  of 515 

Senses,  office  of  the 185 

sympathy  between  the 90 

Sensitive-plant 19,  451 

Sensuous  life,  office  and  importance  of 

the 507 

Sexual  principle,  universality  of  the..  88 

Shakspere,  Christianity  of 308 

Shells,  forms  of 235 

Skeletons,  vegetable 437 

Sleep 349 

of  plants 438 

Snow-crystals 434 

Soul,  the,  a spiritual  body 213,  245 

is  the  man 239,  409 

true  idea  of  the 208 

etymology  of  the  word 229 

Sound  and  color,  analogy  between....  384 

Spatangus 473 

Species,  constancy  of,  depends  on 

spiritual  nature 463 

importance  of  attention  to  454 

Spencer,  Herbert,  quoted 13,  44 

Spiral,  in  nature 234 

Spirit,  signification  of 232 

Spiritual  degree  of  life 207 

world,  the 176,  419 

Sponges 16 

Spring,  symbolism  of. 554,  564 

begins  in  autumn 350 

Substance  and  matter 179 

Sunday,  true  laea  of  its  observance...  300 


PAGE 

Swan,  singing  of  the 413 

Swedenborg,  quoted 89,  454 

Teeth,  the 464 

Temperance  and  moral  purity 76 

Tennyson,  quoted 117 

I'heocritus  quoted 444 

Theology  a progressive  science 342 

Time,  origin  of  idea  of 546 

makes  no  one  old  necessarily....  256 

Toads  in  stones 123 

Tortoises 160 

Tranquility 276 

Trees,  structure  of. 135,  147 

longevity  of 133 

analogy  of,  with  the  world.139,  359 

analogy  of  man  with 501 

in  cemeteries 98 

Tritonia  arborescens 491 

Tropics,  vegetation  of  the 53 

Truths,  apparent  and  genuine 33 

popular  inditference  to 213 

Tschudi,  quoted 50 

Ultici,  quoted 308 

Unitv  of  Nature 470-497 

Use  of  law 39,  175,  208 

Vallisneria 103 

“Varieties” 464 

Vegetarianism 67 

Vegetative  functions 46,  465 

Vertebral  Archetype 473 

in  plants 477 

Virey,  quoted 511 

Virgil,  quoted 80,  125 

Virgin  Mary,  the,  why  worshiped 254 

“ Vital  force” 27 

tissue 47 

stimuli,  the 48 

Vitality  of  seeds 21 

Want,  the  source  of  Happiness 314 

Wellingtonia  gigantea 138 

Wilkinson,  J.  J.  Garth,  quoted 56 

Wind,  the 77-80 

Women’s  letters 268 

Work,  true  idea  and  uses  of. 328 

Worlds,  plurality  of. 12 

Young,  number  of,  at  a birth 165 

Youth  and  age,  true  idea  of. 249 

a condition  to  which  we  attain  258 

Zephyrs,  literally  the  “ life-bringers”  77 
Zoophytes 16,  453,  469 


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Transcript.  ^ 

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